


Why Don't You Stay?

by TheInevitableSense



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Autistic Character, Casual Sex, Child Abuse, Coming Out, Disabled Character, Fingering, First Kiss, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Kidnapping, M/M, Me projecting onto my characters by placing them at that intersection?, Meltdowns?, One Night Stand, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Past Kidnapping, Smut, The weird intersection of both?, This is TMM levels of crackship, amputee character, for my girlfriend, google translate russian, it's more likely than you think, panic attacks?, prosthetic, self-indulgent bullshit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-04-06 23:00:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 55,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14067453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheInevitableSense/pseuds/TheInevitableSense
Summary: George King has lived a lavish, luxurious life, groomed from birth to be the perfect heir to his grandfather's business empire. He's had everything he's ever needed or wanted, right? He's happy, isn't he? Maybe a change of scenery from London to New York is all he needs.Alexander Hamilton has worked his way from nothing to be (in his opinion) the best damn journalist in New York. He wants to win a Pulitzer one day, and a fluff piece about some British business heir isn't going to be what wins it for him, but an assignment is an assignment.Thomas Jefferson is just fine where he is, thank you. He's doing well as a lawyer in Virginia. No need to think about that boy he let slip through his hands years ago. Everything is coming up peaches.Life has a funny way of working out sometimes.(INDEFINITE HIATUS)





	1. The Difference Between A Circlet And A Bandeau Is Basically A Difference In Height And A Bandeau Is More Or Less A Glorified Headband

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when your girlfriend sees a cute picture of LMM and Johnathan Groff together but still really ships Jamilton.

The brand-new _King’s_ jewelers in New York City is set to open tomorrow, ready for the company’s first foray into the American market. The building stands with an impressive three stories on 14th street in Manhattan, sleek and modern, furnished in silver. Huge, reflective windows stretch the wall closest to the streets and offer a peek inside to the beauty and riches within.

Or they would, if the first delivery of product hadn’t gotten held up in US customs. So now, at _four o’clock_ in the afternoon, the last of the delivery trucks finally takes off from the curb. Every employee the boutique has hired pre-open stands around the piles of boxes and crates, breathing heavy from unloading as quickly as they had.

George Frederick King stands at the bottom of the grand staircase to the second floor, his PA at his side with her tablet in her hands. “Are you sure that’s the last of it?” he asks, looking out over the floor full of crates.

Adrianne nods, peering over her thin wire glasses. “Yes sir, that’s it.” George nods stiffly, waits a few more moments to let his employees catch their breath, and then clears his throat. Instantly, every head turns to look at him.

“Alright, everyone. Start getting it all sorted!” he calls. “Loose stones, metal holdings, setting supplies, and such are on the second floor. Everything else stays down here. Samuel!” One of the managers nods in acknowledgement. “You’re in charge of the second floor. We have sixteen hours until we open people! Chop chop!”

With seemingly one last collective sigh, the employee base gets moving again. George walks down the final stairs as Samuel and a few other employees pass him, going up with boxes in their arms. Just as he passes, George grabs Samuel by the elbow and quickly describes the layout of the second floor. The manager nods and disappears upstairs, already barking orders.

George himself descends into the floor, finding himself in a crowd of moving people and boxes. He grabs the other manager, a woman named Maria, and gives her a sense of the bottom floor, but George finds himself directing most of the traffic.

“Necklaces in the back right,” George tells a squirrely little fellow, who nods and disappears into that direction. He watches the rolling group, looking for anything out of place or in danger of falling.

“Sir, where do you want the pre-made necklaces?” Asks a young woman, and George has to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

“Back right!” He barks, and girl shrinks from him and scurries off. George glances at his watch, _4:30_. Adrianne stays at his side as he starts to make his way around the shop.

“You,” he says, grabbing one of the middle-aged employees on her way back to grab another box, “don’t worry about that. Start opening and sorting the rings by band material.”

“Yes Mr. King,” she says, voice like a high-pitched whistle. George manages not to flinch at the sound, just offers her a smile. The next employee he gets a hold of is now in charge of setting up the ring counter, opening the cases and organizing it by band, then by gem, finally down to the cut.

“Sir,” Samuel says, appearing from behind suddenly, “do you want us to start counting and sorting the loose stones?” Before George can answer, Maria appears with two employees in tow.

“Mr. King, what do you want us to do with the necklace-bracelet pairs?”

“Sir,” Adrianne pipes in, “You’ve got -”

“Hold a moment,” George says to his PA, and turns back to his managers. To Samuel he says: “Do the holdings first, I want to watch the gem count. Maria, set them with the necklaces for now.” His managers nod, take off in their respective directions but George stops the two other employees.

“You,” he points at one, “I need you to head to the tiara section, do you know the difference between a circlet and a bandeau? Oh, never mind. Sort by metal type.” George turns his attention to the other, “and you start on the bracelets, again, by base metal.” He whirls on the third employee standing behind him. “And you -”

George stops, looking down at the short, strange man in front of him. “You are not in uniform,” he says before he gets a look at the man’s face. “That is because you do not work here!” George offers his best smile for a fraction of an instant before turning to his PA. “Adrianne, who is this man?”

“Your 4:45,” Adrianne says. “Vanity Fair?” George blinks, then recollection floods him.

“Oh!” He says, spinning again to face the reporter. “Vanity Fair, yes.” George offers his hand out to the man. “George King, wonderful to meet you.”

The reporter takes his hand. “Alexander Hamilton,” he says. His handshake is firm, almost a little too strong, but George is already pulling his hand away before he really processes it.

“Mr. Hamilton, I have to apologize, we are in a bit of a tizzy as you can see.”

“Do you need me to come back some other time?” Alexander offers. He’s still dressed in a heavy parka, a messenger bag slung across his body. George shakes his head.

“No, no, we can walk and talk.” George motions for Alexander to follow him as he makes his way into the back-left corner. “Our starting shipment had to come from overseas and customs got a little frisky, so we’re running a bit behind you understand. So, if you don’t mind skipping the formalities and getting right to the questions?”

“Of course, Mr. King,” Alexander says, fishing a pen and notebook from his bag. George holds one hand up.

“Mr. King is my grandfather, please, call me George,” he says. Alexander nods, clicking the pen.

“So, your grandfather still owns the company as a whole right?”

George nods. “Yes, correct. I’m just in charge of this shop. Hey!” George shouts at an employee. “Don’t stack boxes that high! Something falls and breaks, it’s out of your paycheck!” The man stutters out an apology and George turns to skirt around him and his wobbly pile. He lets out a sigh.

“Americans, you know -” he turns to get agreement from Alexander, only to find the man looking at him with a cocked eyebrow. George stops for a moment, lips pursed. “Right, sorry.” He looks around, trying to find anything else to turn the conversation to. “Did you see the silver metal work on the floor?” He points to the dark wood floor. “Hand carved Macassar Ebony, beautiful. Pure silver leaf too.”

Alexander glances down for but a heartbeat. “Cool. I heard something about you doing the internal design yourself?”

George breaks out into a smile. “Again, correct. You do your research Mr. Hamilton. I wanted this shop to be perfect, and if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.” George starts off back towards the headpieces, intent on giving a small lesson on the different types of jeweled headwear, but is derailed when Samuel comes bounding down the stairs.

“Sir, we’ve got a problem with the custom work chains,” he says, and George stifles a sigh. He motions for Alexander to follow him and they make their way up the stairs.

“So, do you still intend to open tomorrow?” Alexander asks. George nods. “Mayor de Blasio has expressed -”

“Sir!” Someone calls from the corner, cutting Alexander off. “Did you want the holdings separate from the chains?”

“Of course! They’re two separate pieces!” George calls back, still following Samuel to the right wall. “I apologize Mr. Hamilton, you were saying?”

“Mayor de Blasio has said he wishes to -”

“See?” Samuel throws open one of the boxes by the wall. Inside, the casing come all undone and necklace chains are strewn everywhere, tangled all to hell. George lets out a noise of frustration.

“Someone at customs must not know how boxes work,” he grumbles. He looks up at Samuel. “Go get… oh what’s her name… Julie! Julie, the little brunette. She’s got small fingers. She’s downstairs somewhere with Maria.” Samuel nods his understanding and takes off. God bless that man, he knows how to _move_.

Once again, George turns to Alexander. “Mayor de Blasio…” he feeds, seeing the way the smaller man’s face is set in frustration. He drums the end of his pen against the notebook.

“The Mayor has expressed a desire to come visit -”

“Oh, yes yes,” George interrupts, spinning on his heel again and heading back for the stairs. “The Mayor’s office has already been in touch - oh heaven above!” They’re not even halfway down the stairs and George can already see the mess the ring counter is in. He hears a small sigh come from behind him as he picks up the pace.

“Look, Mr. King -”

“George,” he shoots back again, striding over to the counter. “Who taught you how to set a display?!” The man fiddling with the Styrofoam rolls looks up, trying to stutter something out but George is still going. “It goes higher the closer to get to the back! So you can see everything from the front. Shortest rolls in the front, do you understand?”

The man nods frantically, already fumbling to fix his mistake. “Make sure you use the _white_ velvet for this case, yes? The black is for the shelf cases,” he snaps. Then he turns back to the reporter, to find he’s put his notepad away.

“Everything alright Mr. Hamilton?” He asks. Alexander glances up from his bag and sighs.

“Mr K- George,” he corrects himself at George’s warning look, “I appreciate you trying to make this interview work, but it’s obvious you’ve got too much on your hands right now. I’m gonna leave now. No point wasting our time here.”

George blinks, taken aback slightly. “I’m sorry?”

“No hard feelings, we’ll try again some other time.” Alexander offers his hand out for George to shake, and George simply looks at it for a moment. He turns to find Adrianne, but she’s gone off somewhere for the moment and George is alone.

“Um, actually,” George pats his pockets down. “Why don’t we just…” It’s Alexander’s turn to look vaguely startled as George pulls a business card out of his pocket and plucks Alexander’s pen out of his hand. “Coffee, Saturday,” he says, writing down the date, time and the address of a little cafe by his apartment on the back of the card. “I’ll pay, make up for your inconvenience.”

Alexander stares at the shiny card, eyebrows raised. “I can just call your office and…” but George shakes his head.

“I know my immediate schedule, this is the only thing I’ve got available until next Wednesday,” he says. Still Alexander hesitates. “Mr. Hamilton?” He prompts, holding his hard out a little further. Alexander lets out a sigh, presses his lips together and takes it. George grins. “Wonderful, I’m looking forward to it.”

Before Alexander gets the chance to reply, George spots Maria approaching from over his shoulder. “Mr. King, sir, I’ve got a question about the Royal Sapphire line,” she says. George nods at Alexander, then pushes past him to follow Maria to the other side of the shop.

When he’s finished with that small crisis, George turns around to find where he’s needed next. He briefly notices that Alexander is long gone, but then a shouting from upstairs commands his attention and he bounds up the stairs two at a time.

\--------------

Alex sits at his desk, staring at the empty word doc in front of him. He’d cleared his evening because he’d figured he could bang out the _King’s_ article and go back to the op-ed he had been working on. But he couldn’t write the _King’s_ article without a complete interview. And he isn’t the type to be able to write out of order either. He has to have all his information and write start-to-end.

So he’s stuck without an article. That’s due on Monday. Alex feels like banging his head against the desk. Washington is going to have his head if Alex doesn’t turn in an assigned article on time again. _Why can’t I just write opinion pieces and the stories_ I _want?_ He wonders, not for the first time. _Why do I have to write these filler pieces about jewelry shops and street fairs?_

He’s tempted just to open his op-ed and start work on that, but if he gets caught without having his _King’s_ article in, he’ll get chewed out for ‘poor time management’ again. Which doesn’t make sense, because Alex churns out more articles than anyone else in this building, but whatever.

King’s business card sits on his desk, the looping handwriting on the back mocking him. Well, at least King picked the day before his deadline. He picks up the card, leaning back in his seat and feeling along the thick edges. For a business card, it’s expensive. The _King’s_ logo in is in shining silver with King’s name scrawled across the bottom.

Well, he’s getting free coffee out of this mess, so that’s something. _Coffee with a gorgeous man,_ pipes up a voice in the back of his head. Alex shakes his head, tossing the card back on the desk. _Business, Alex, just business._

He glances at the clock on his computer and groans. He has a whole hour before he can go home and work on what he actually wants to work on. He sighs and stands from his seat. Might as well go see who’s in the office to go bother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess I'm actually doing this okay. This is gonna be probably one of the lightest things I've ever written let's go.
> 
> I know this isn't gonna be everyone's cup of tea but also this is fanfic and I can be as self-indulgent as I want. Thomas ain't gonna be here for a while but he'll show up don't worry. We'll get there.
> 
> Updates will be on Fridays (for now, always subject to change), and these first few chapters might be a bit short but that's just how first chapters tend to be for me. Cool? Cool.
> 
> See you Friday


	2. First Impressions Are Fickle Things, Aren't They?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interview over coffee, mentions of pizza rats, and Alexander being too curious for his own good.

Sunday rolls around and Alex drags himself back down 14th street to the address King had given him. It’s a nice little cafe, far out of Alex’s usual budget, but King’s paying so who’s he to complain?

He walks inside a few minutes after eight and looks around. For a minute, he thinks he got here first, but then he spots that little quaff of almond colored hair in the corner. King’s staring at the table, hands folded in front of him, and even as Alex approaches he doesn’t look up. In fact, as Alex gets closer, he can even hear the man muttering to himself.

“...how are you?” King says to himself, Alex just managing to catch the words. “No, how have you been? Lord, no -”

“Mr. King?” Alex asks. King blinks, head snapping up. For the briefest of moments, he looks like a startled deer in headlights, eyes wide. But then a grin spreads across his face as he slides out of his seat and offers Alex his hand.

“Mr. Hamilton, hello,” he says. “How have you been?”

“Just fine, yourself?” Alex replies, shaking King’s hand firmly.

“Wonderful.” King’s smile doesn’t slip. “So glad we could make this work.” He holds himself with ramrod straight posture, smile stretched almost painfully across his face. Alexander nods.

“Yeah, me too,” Alexander says. King pulls his hand away and motions for Alexander to take the seat across from him. Alexander pulls off his coat and drops it on the back of the chair. “How did your grand opening go?”

“Wonderful!” King says. “Better than expected, very smooth. I’ve been extremely busy since.”

“Understandable,” Alexander says as he takes his seat and fishes out a notebook and pen. “I’m on a bit of a time crunch myself.”

“Oh, is this a bad time?” King asks. Alexander shakes his head.

“No, no, this is perfect actually.” Alexander looks up at the other man. “If we could just get started?” King nods, and Alexander flips his notebook open.

“So, tell me just a bit about yourself,” Alexander says. An easy pitch, just to test the waters, get things warmed up. He’s got plans to ask a few questions about the diamond trade later on, but he’s not going to go for the throat quite yet.

King, now in his own chair, hums. “Well, I was born in London, studied business at Oxford and I moved to New York about three weeks ago to open the first American branch of _King’s_.”

King stops talking, and Alexander looks up from his notepad. He hesitates for a second, waiting to see if King is simply trying to think up something else to say. But King is smiling at him, hands folded on the table, ready for the next question already.

“Okay, um,” Alexander glances down at the single line of information he’s written down. “What prompted you to make the move?”

“My grandfather always saw a store in New York as the sign of international success, and he wanted someone in the family to run the boutique. He likes each store to be run with a little ‘family touch,’ you know.”

And just like that, another perfect little soundbite. Alexander purses his lips. “And you’re Mr. King Sr.’s only grandchild, right?”

“Correct, Mr. Hamilton.”

Alexander once again leaves a pause, but King looks at him expectantly. “I know Mr. King runs the original london store, but what about the other branches in Europe?”

“Aunts and uncles, mostly,” King answers. “Each and every _King’s_ is owned by one of the family. It helps ensure all of our branches meet company standards, and it provides that little _family touch_ people expect from our stores.”

Alexander frowns, putting his pen down for the moment. He looks up at King, searching the stone mask in front of him. “And you, as the only grandchild, was sent across the ocean on his own?”

“It’s a huge undertaking, I’ll admit,” King says. “But I’m honored to be trusted with fulfilling such a large part of my grandfather’s dreams.”

“And do you think you’ve managed to do that with the new boutique?”

“It’s a bit early to say, but the very fact we opened our doors is an accomplishment.”

Alexander bites his lip. King’s expression hasn’t slipped, stayed shallowly pleasant, but there’s something behind that almost empty look in his eyes. “Man,” he says, leaning back in his seat, “have you been _trained_ to give me such empty statements or something?”

If Alexander hadn’t been looking for it, he might have missed the slight flinch, missed the way King’s shoulders stiffened underneath the nice suit. “I’m… I’m sorry?” King asks, voice tight. Alexander rolls his eyes.

“Whatever, just… were you surprised to be given the New York branch?”

King’s blinks, Alexander can almost see the gears resetting in his head, and then says: “It’s an understandable choice. Who else can deliver the best representation of the King family touch besides me? Well, aside from my grandfather himself of course.” The statement is followed with a charming - if hollow - laugh. Alexander sighs.

“Say the words ‘family touch’ one more time, I swear to god,” he mutters. King must hear him, if the tiny flicker of emotion in his eyes is anything to go by. Before Alexander can say anything, King stands suddenly.

“I’m sorry, I have an appointment I have to get to,” he says, voice tight and clipped. “Thank you for your time Mr. Hamilton.” King doesn’t even offer a handshake before he turns to go. Alexander starts, jolting into action and grabbing King’s hand before he gets too far away.

“Hey, hey, I’m sorry,” he says. “That was a dick thing to say.” King turns to look at him, eyes flicking between Alexander and their conjoined hands. “I’d like to ask a few more questions, if you’ve got the time?” He offers. King’s once empty gaze suddenly seems hesitant, and he can’t stop looking down at where Alexander is holding his hand. Alexander quickly pulls his hand away. _Guy probably doesn’t like to be touched,_ he realizes belatedly.

King glances down at his watch, then up at Alexander for a brief second. “I can give you a few more minutes,” he offers, smile stretching back across his face shakily. Alexander nods.

“Thank you,” he says as King slowly takes his seat again. When he gets settled and looks back up, it almost seems as if nothing’s changed. There’s the same perfect posture and affable smile, but this time there’s something swimming in those blue eyes. It almost looks like fear, and Alexander wonders where that confident, charismatic man he’d met a few days ago disappeared too.

“So, how do you like New York?” he asks, trying to sound as friendly as possible. He’s worked with skittish interviewees before, but never one quite like this.

“It’s a beautiful city,” King says, but the effortless smoothness in his words is cracking slightly. Alexander’s eye twitches at the neutral, nothing answer and King’s eyes widen for just a heartbeat. “I haven’t gotten much of a chance to explore, you understand,” he rushes to explain. “I’ve been so busy with the store I’ve only gotten to see the commute from home to the shop.”

Alexander breathes a short laugh, and King breaks out into a shaky smile. The anxiety is still buried in his eyes but the tension in his hands seems to have melted away a bit. “That would explain it,” Alexander says. “New York? Beautiful? I saw two rats fighting over half a slice of pizza on the way over here.”

The way King’s nose scrunches briefly in disgust is actually kind of adorable if Alexander is honest with himself. “Perhaps once things settle down I shall get a chance to see more rats fighting over food.”

“Well, you’ll need to go see the tourist places; Statue of Liberty, Times Square, Broadway, that kinda thing. But there’s also the MoMA, Cony Island, the zoos…” Alexander trails, looking up at King’s lost expression. He sighs. “I mean, the Central Park Zoo and the Bronx Zoo are both fine, but I suppose you really only _have_ to see one. And I prefer the MoMA to the Met, and I mean the Natural History Museum is cool -”

Alexander cuts off. King’s eyes are as wide as saucers, confusion plastered across his face. “I… I apologize but I don’t…” King trails, pulling his hands off the table and shoving them in his pockets. Alexander purses his lips. King looks so lost, almost _frightened,_ like a curious but terrified mouse that’s met the cat before and doesn’t want a repeat experience.

But then Alexander remembers the King from the shop, the confident, smooth man who had directed things like an expert. Although that man is nowhere to be found today, Alexander knows he’s buried somewhere in that pent up figure on the other side of the table. And the little flashes of _something else_ behind the scripted answers pulls Alexander in. He wouldn't be a reporter without a healthy sense of curiosity, now would he?

“When are you free?” Alexander asks. King blinks, even more unsure at the sudden change of topic.

“Do you have to be off?” King asks. Alexander hesitates, then nods. He’s got enough scripted bullshit to know dragging this on won’t really get him anything more.

“Yeah, sorry, but when are you free again?” He presses. King hesitates, then pulls out his phone. He taps a few times, and then looks up.

“I’m free for a few hours this Tuesday morning eight to eleven,” he says. “Why?”

Alexander shakes his head, tearing out a page from his notebook. “Okay, so, I want you meet me _here_ \- ” Alexander scribbles down an address on the paper and passes it to King - “On Tuesday at eight exactly.”

King gingerly takes the paper on the table as Alexander packs away his things. “What for?”

“Just… just meet me there, okay?” Alexander grabs his bag, slings it over his shoulder, and stands. “Thanks for the coffee.”

King frowns, eyebrows scrunched. “You didn’t even get any,” he points out. Alexander pauses.

“Huh, I guess you’re right?” He says, thinking. But he shrugs. “Thanks anyway. See you in a couple of days.” Alexander turns and walks away from the table, trying to fish his beanie from his pocket.

“Wait!” King calls after him, but Alexander is already slipping out the door, trying not to think about how he just told _George King_ to meet him to show the man around the city.

\--------------

“... and then he left!” George says, hands thrown into the air, head thrown back. Adrianne hums from where she stands on the other side of his desk. George picks his head up to look at her. “Hm? That’s all you’ve got to say. _Hmmmmm?_ ”

Adrianne looks at him over her wire-rim glasses, amusement glittering in her eyes. “What else am I supposed to say sir?”

George lets out a noise of frustration. “I don't _know_.” His hands drop to rub at his eyes. “I should cancel.”

“Absolutely not,” Adrianne replies. “You made a commitment.”

“It was halfway thought out and rushed! I’ll tell him something important came up.” George leans forward, reaching for his office phone when Adrianne gently places her hand atop it.

“It’s incredibly bad form to cancel,” Adrianne says. George looks up at her, feeling almost like a petulant child.

“What else am I supposed to do?” He asks. Adrianne smiles.

“You go spend the day with him, see what he wants.”

“The _day_?” George looks up at her in shock. “Just three hours, I have that lunch with - ”

“Mrs. Jenner canceled herself this morning,” Adrianne says. George blinks. “With incredibly bad form, I might add. Your entire Tuesday is free sir.”

George looks back down at his phone receiver, Adrianne’s polished nails drumming gently along it. “Fine, I’ll keep the appointment,” he huffs. Adrianne smiles.

“Wonderful, sir.”

George leans back in his chair, looking up at his office ceiling. A whole day with Mr. Alexander Hamilton and his idiotically handsome smile. He stifles the groan in his chest. He can make it one day without doing anything _stupid_ , can he?

\--------------

Somewhere in Virginia, on Tuesday morning, Thomas Jefferson gets a notification on his phone that the next edition of _Vanity Fair_ has been released electronically. He skips and scans the magazine, but there’s nothing particularly interesting until about two-thirds of the way through.

Alexander’s piece about some jewelry fortune heir and his business in New York is perfectly bland and uninteresting unless you know how to read it, which Thomas does, and he doesn’t miss the subtle commentary. He smiles down at some veiled line about the dangers of capitalism.

Alexander is still such a goddamn idiot, then again, they both are in different ways. Thomas frowns, sighs and puts down his phone. Not for the first time, he considers cancelling his subscription, but he knows he'd end up buying each issue anyway.

He finishes gathering his things and leaves the house with more than enough time to stop by Martha's before work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus I forgot how fast a week goes when each Friday is a deadline.
> 
> See you Friday


	3. Titling Chapters Is Hard And I'm Tired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summarizing things is also hard shit happens and it's a bit gay.

When the car pulls past the “Queens Zoo” sign, George assumes _that_ was where Alexander had decided to meet up. He sighs; zoos aren’t exactly his favorite thing on earth, and it’s wintertime anyway. He’d been to the London zoo a couple of times, and only found it a bit sad. But if there was one thing George was good at, it was faking a smile and getting through the press circus.

But then George’s car turns left instead of right and he finds himself looking up at a glass fronted building with metallic letters proclaiming it to be the Queens museum instead. This time, the sigh George lets out is one of relief. Museums he enjoyed. You were supposed to be quiet in museums, so no one talked to you.

His driver pulls up at the curb, and as he steps out George spots Alexander leap up from the bench he’s sitting on to greet him. He’s wearing that same ratty parka and beanie George has seen him in the other two times they’ve met. He’s not wearing any gloves despite the gently falling snowflakes, and he’s rubbing them together as they meet in the middle of the sidewalk outside the museum.

“Hey,” Alexander breathes, breath visible in the cold. He’s physically drawn in on himself, fighting the cold. George frowns, the chill is seeping in through his own coat, so he has no idea how cold Alexander must feel in that worn down, fraying thing.

“Hello,” he says, suddenly not quite sure what to do with his hands. Does he offer a handshake? Maybe he should. Handshakes are the formal, proper thing to do, but does he offer one outside a museum like this? Alexander isn’t extending his own hand, and far be it from George to make him stick his bare hands out into the cold. Instead he busies himself by looking up at the building. “A museum?” He asks.

Alexander nods. “Yeah, do you mind if we go inside? It’s cold.”

George nods, and soon finds himself in the posh interior of a modern museum, all hard lines and metallic colours. From the corner of his eye he watches Alexander fumble through his wallet, pull out what looks like the single twenty inside and pay for their admission. He doesn’t mean to snoop, not really, but the four singles Alexander gets in change make his wallet look significantly thicker.

“Alright,” George says, looking over at the directory quickly before Alexander notices him watching. “What to first -”

George only gets a moment before Alexander is tugging on his arm and pulling him away from the directory. “Come on,” Alexander says, leading George through the hallways of the museum. “This way.”

George can’t help but let this little man pull him around, staring at the spot Alexander’s hand is closed around his wrist. He can feel his face heat up, just like it did when Alexander did this exact same thing at the cafe.

_Calm down George,_ he thinks to himself, _this_ man _is a reporter. Not your friend, nothing else_. Still, he can’t speak, can barely catch air in his lungs as Alexander practically jogs them down the corridors. Alexander keeps glancing back at him, excitement growing in his eyes as they get closer and closer to… _whatever_ Alexander wants him to see so badly.

And then Alexander pulls him into a room with that looks almost like a skating rink - a pathway around a huge, closed off middle section that you can look into through glass. In the middle section, spread out across the floor is something George initially mistakes for a map. And then he notices that the map is three-dimensional, the buildings, trees and bridges sprouting up from the floor, some just centimeters tall.

Alexander is looking at him almost expectantly, but George is confused. “It’s a… diorama of a city?” He asks, peering through the glass. Alexander shakes his head, then stops.

“Well, yeah, but not just any city,” he says. “It’s New York.”

“Oh?” Now George can see it. The shape of Manhattan Island in the center, the boroughs all spread out. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

Alexander comes up to stand beside him, by the display glass. “You said you hadn’t seen the city, so I figured I’d show you _all_ of it,” he says, nudging George gently with his elbow. There’s a joking smile on Alexander’s face that makes George’s stomach flip even as his brain finally makes the final connection.

George can’t help but laugh. Not the trained, professional laugh, but the one that made him double over in giggles and guffaws. The one his mom hated, but _jesus_ if this little diorama wasn’t marvelous. Beside him, Alexander’s smile only grows as his little jest lands.

“Oh, lord above,” George sighs, finally managing to straighten, running a hand through his hair to pat it back in place. “You certainly did find a way to show me the whole city. In only ten minutes too. Impressive.”

Alexander rolls his eyes, and then looks back down at the panorama. “Yeah, I mean, this is like, 1990’s New York, so not exactly the New York you’d see outside, but I showed you the city.” There’s a fond smile on his face as he gently raises one hand to point to a portion of the city. “That’s where your store is, or would be if this was completely updated.”

George looks down at the tiny buildings where Alexander is pointing, but no matter how much he squints he can’t pick out the street or any buildings he can recognize. “How do you know?” He asks. There’s no way Alexander could see things that small.

“There’s a map,” Alexander says, pointing over to the wall. Sure enough there’s a little diagram on the wall showing the streets and landmarks close to where they’re standing, looking out over this microscopic city.

“Oh,” he says, and Alexander laughs. And _oh_ that’s not the sound George ever expected to come from that mouth. It’s barking, ending in an almost breathless giggle as it trails off and Alexander’s eyes glitter in the low museum display lights. George’s heart is pounding in his ears almost too loudly for him to hear what Alexander says next. “Huh?” he asks when he sees Alexander looking at him expectantly.

Alexander cocks an eyebrow. “I _asked_ , you have to be back at your store at eleven, right?”

George shakes his head. “My afternoon canceled, I’m open the whole day,” he says, surprising himself with the truth despite the voice in his head shouting to _get out, get away from this man now, before it gets worse_. But then Alexander’s face lights up spectacularly and George forgets how to breathe.

“Great!” Alexander says. “I was worried about time, but come on then!” Just like that, his hand is on George’s wrist again and pulling him from the diorama room with just as much speed as he pulled George into it. George is expecting to be lead around the museum, but no, Alexander is full of surprises as he just pulls George out into the cold air again. As they pass the admissions counter George remembers the sight of Alexander’s meagre wallet, but he’s being lead out the door and down towards a bus stop.

“Wait!” George says, and Alexander stops, looking back at him expectantly. George reaches into his pocket, fumbles with his phone and a moment later he can spot the sleek black of his personal car coming up from the parking lot. “Why take the bus when I’ve got a car?” He asks, flashing Alexander a smile.

He’s expecting the usual excitement, the usual greed hidden behind affable smiles, but Alexander just furrows his brow. George watches his car pull up to the curb, heart in his throat. Once it stops in front of them, Alexander sighs, as if resigning himself to something, and reaches for the door handle.

This time it’s George’s turn to grab Alexander’s wrist. “No, let Peter get it,” George says, holding Alexander back as Peter - George’s chauffeur - gets out of the driver’s seat. Alexander frowns at the older man, dressed in solemn black, as he shuffles around the car towards the two of them.

“I can get my own door,” Alexander protests, but Peter is already there and holding the door open to the plush interior of George’s car. George makes a litte motion towards the car, and Alexander hesitates for a moment. He looks up at Peter, snowflakes falling into Peter’s salt and pepper mustache. Peter simply waits in silence, and finally Alexander sighs and then crawls into the car.

Peter shuts the door on Alexander and opens George’s door on the other side. George slides into the car next to Alexander and in the next heartbeat realizes his grave mistake. There is, at max, a foot in between them and the edges of Alexander’s coat trail towards George’s leg. He stiffens, drawing in on himself.

And Alexander seems to be just as uncomfortable as George is, though perhaps not for the same reason. Whereas George can’t help stealing glances at the other man, Alexander is glaring at the leather seating, running his fingertips across the smooth, shining seat. The dirt under his fingernails looks awfully out of place in the rich, dark red car, as does the rest of him with his ratty coat and gruff goatee.

Peter slides into the diver seat and turns the car over. “Where to sirs?” He asks, voice hard in his Russian accent. Alexander starts, and glances up at the open partition that separates the front and back seats of the car. He leans forward as he gives Peter the name of some place, but George isn’t paying attention. He’s already trying to figure out what the best cut for a new coat would be for Alexander, one that would actually keep him warm. A new coat and a set of cashmere lined gloves. No, fur lined, it gets very cold in New York. But what about when it’s too warm for fur?

Both, George decides. He’ll get Alexander both kinds and a coat _and_ a new hat. The one in his hands looks fine, but not particularly warm. Alexander shouldn’t be out in the cold without good head protection. You lose most of your body heat through your head, after all, George’s mum had always insisted on a hat and earmuffs whenever it snowed. Should Alexander have earmuffs? Oh, he should, George wouldn’t want his ears getting too cold -

George realizes they’ve been sitting in complete silence for a while now and silence is simply unacceptable when you have to entertain someone. So he clears his throat and goes for the usual travel conversation topic.

“Like the car?” He asks. Alexander looks up at him, brows furrowed. “Custom made Rolls-Royce, designed partially by one of my uncles. The only people in the world to have this model are all Kings, and every single one has a different color palate.”

Alexander nods, staying silent. George rattles on, waiting for him to jump in and say something, but Alexander listens passively, not reacting to any of George’s memorized facts. Normally he’s getting looks of awe and jealousy but it barely seems like Alexander is paying attention.

“It was such a hassle to bring it overseas, but…” George trails. Alexander doesn’t even indulge him in the sympathetic, shallow consolations George is used to. He just looks around the interior as George falls silent.

All of a sudden George realizes he’s been talking at Alexander for a very long time, and his face starts to prickle with shame. The only thing worse than silence is being overbearing. He shrinks back into his seat, not quite knowing what to do or say, face hot. George doesn’t know if he should apologize or try and change the subject but before he can open his mouth Alexander speaks.

“Don’t you want to know where we’re going?” Alexander asks, the sound of his voice lifting a weight off George’s shoulders as the pressure of conversation is taken from him.

“That would be nice, yes,” George says, trying to relax his voice. Alexander clears his throat.

“Well, we’re going to one of the secret wonders of the world,” Alexander says, his stiffness fading away slightly as he leans towards George conspiratorially. “The Bronx.”

George’s eyebrows shoot up, but Alexander isn’t finished. “There’s a delicacy you can only get in New York,” his face lighting up, “and then I’m gonna show you a couple of secrets you wouldn’t see on a bus tour.”

And Alexander looks so excited for this that George can’t help the way his heart skips in his chest. _No, George_ , he tries to tell himself, _bad idea_ , but he finds himself leaning towards Alexander, the other man’s enthusiasm is contagious.

“Like what?” George asks. Alexander gets a glint in his eye.

“It’s not a surprise if I tell you,” Alexander says, voice low and George’s breath catches in his throat. He opens his mouth to say something -

“We’ve arrived,” Peter says, and George jerks back. Alexander looks out his window and suddenly already climbing out of the car like the leather burns him. Peter isn’t even out of his own seat before Alexander is stretching his neck in the cold.

Peter opens George’s door and George climbs out, but stops in his tracks when he sees where they are. Alexander stands before a small storefront in the middle of a crowded block, the buildings all scrunched up together and built seemingly on top of one another. Signs and posters and plastered all across the windows, and the door is shielded from the snow by a small but bright-red awning.

The honk of a passing car startles George out of his surprise. This street corner is a far cry from the sleek museum they were just at or, if George is frank, anywhere George has ever been in his life ever. At Peter’s gentle urging, George scurries out of the road and Peter climbs back in the car to look for a parking spot.

When George comes to stand next to Alexander, the man looks suddenly slightly unsure of himself. Alexander glances in the direction Peter drove off, and George can just see the back of it disappearing into New York traffic.

“This the place?” George asks one eyebrow cocked. Alexander looks up at him as he motions towards the store front. Alexander nods, then looks over at the little run-down building in front of him, and suddenly that little bit of insecurity is back on his face. George frowns, he doesn’t like that look on Alexander.

“Alright then, come on,” George says, taking a step forward towards the ‘restaurant.’ _That’s what you’d call this place, right?_ George thinks to himself. _It’s technically a little restaurant, just grin and bear it. Can’t be too bad, can it?_

\--------------

“...it’s made of beef and cheese and onions and it’s possibly the _best_ sandwich I’ve ever had!” George exclaims, arms thrown up in the air, leaning back in his swivel chair. Adrianne watches him from the other side of his desk almost amusedly, the street lights coming in from the window reflecting off her glasses. “And did you know there’s a museum in this city with an one hundred year old bowling alley in the basement? It’s just sitting there! A full bowling alley make of old wood and the ball return works only on gravity and the bowling balls only have _two_ holes in them, not three.”

“And you’re allowed to play on it?” Adrianne asks. George shakes his head.

“No, but the way it’s built is simply gorgeous.” George kicks his feet against his desk so his chair rolls back slightly and he starts spinning slowly in a circle. Not that he fully notices, he’s too busy gesticulating and telling Adrianne every story he can about his day with Alexander in New York.

“And then he took me to grand central station, which, I’ve been to before, but I didn’t know there was this archway that’s built in just the right manner that two people can stand on opposite sides of it and whisper to each other by talking _towards_ the wall!”

“Uh huh,” Adrianne says, the slightest of smiles on her face. She’s only so very rarely seen this side of her boss. George nods enthusiastically.

“And Alexander said there’s a handful of little places in the city that still work like speakeasies, and I don’t know what a speakeasy is but I want to go to one,” George says, words continuing to gush out like a waterfall. “Which reminds me! What does next weekend look like? Not the one coming up, I know that’s full, but the one after.”

Adrianne pulls out her tablet, burying her face into it for a moment before looking up. “Your Saturday evening is clear, why?”

“Marvellous!” George says. “Block it off, Alexander said he was willing to show me one the next time I was free.”

The turn of George’s swivel chair was just right so he missed Adrianne’s expression of delighted surprise, and by the time he made it back around she had composed her features again. “Certainly,” she says, punching in the event into George’s private calendar. When she’s done, she looks up just at the trail end of something George is saying about bodegas.

“I’m glad you enjoyed your day out sir,” she says. “How was the company?”

“Alexander?” George asks. “Oh, he’s simply... “ he trails, caught in a bit of thought. Adrianne watches, keeping herself composed and only politely interested. “He’s interesting,” George settles on. Adrianne blinks.

“Interesting?” She prompts. George looks at her, one hand reaching out to grab his desk and stop his gentle spinning. The youthful excitement drains from his face and he clears his throat.

“Interesting, very good conversationalist,” he says. “Mr. Hamilton is someone we ought to keep in our good graces. It’s always good to have the press with us.” George sits up in his chair and looks at his desk. The way he quickly parses through the sheets of loose paper is familiar to Adrianne, it means he’s looking for a quick topic change.

“Of course,” she says. “Do you want to go over your notes for tomorrow’s meeting?” George nods.

“Yes, a quick refresher is in order,” he says, the stiff businessman back in place of the almost childlike persona of just a few moments before. Adrianne stiffles the curl of sadness in her gut as she nods and pulls up the files on her tablet. “Don’t want the managers to think their boss is unprepared.”

“No, of course not sir.”

“Oh, one more thing,” George says, “before we get started. Make sure you call that American tailor mother suggested we use. I need to place an order.”

Adrianne looks up. “I thought we just finished stocking your wardrobe,” she says. George shakes his head.

“Not for me, I want to get a gift for someone,” he says, and the way he stumbles on the word ‘someone’ tells Adrianne exactly who for. She hides her smile in her tablet as she pulls up the agenda for the store manager’s meeting tomorrow.

It seems like her instinct - that Mr. Alexander Hamilton would be a good influence on George - might just be correct.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not from nor ever been to New York but everything I mention is real. There's some cool shit in NYC and I'd like to visit someday.
> 
> See you Friday


	4. In Which I Once Again Introduce Historical Characters That Weren't In The Show Because I Can. Fight Me And My History Major.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ice sculptures, The Capet Family, and gifts.

King - _no, George_ \- ended up having to cancel that particular Saturday. Something about some social event his mom had planned and wouldn’t let him out of; which, _okay_ but Alexander had been saving up to buy George enough alcohol to see what George would be like drunk. He had tried not to be too disappointed, but John had still caught him sulking about it.

And it wasn’t like he went all that long without seeing George and his stupid face again. They go for lunch a few days after that and somehow they end up at some sort of holiday market. It was starting to get close to Christmas, and some church set up a fair for local families. There were lights hung in the trees and little cut out penguins for signs, but mostly there were children, and lots of them.

George couldn’t get enough of it all, taking it all in with wide-eyed wonder, not unlike the children that swarmed around their feet as they made their way through the packed snow. He’d even clapped with delight at the man carving small figurines out of ice - doing it so quickly and efficiently even Alexander had a hard time keeping up with his deft movements until the sculpture was finished.

Between the caroling choir and the Santa Claus booth, there was a small little ice skating rink that had been built there, along with skate rentals. Alexander walks right past it but George stops in his tracks to look out over the rink. Alexander is a whole five feet ahead before he looks back and realizes George is just _standing_ there.

“George?” Alexander asks, his breath white smoke in the air. “Something the matter?”

George hums a negative, his eyes glued on the skaters in front of him. Alexander looks over at his companion and the way George has been watching the ice skaters on the festive rink is just a bit off. Like he’s got something buried just beneath his neutral expression that Alexander can’t quite name.

“You wanna go?” Alexander asks, not completely opposed to the idea. It had been a long time since he’d been ice skating, maybe since Herc’s birthday in college.

“Oh, I - I’m just watching,” George says, “I don’t skate.” But he doesn’t move from his spot, his hands curled around the railing as mothers and their children make lazy circles around the rink.

“Have you ever been?” Alexander asks.

“Mother always said I’d hurt myself,” George responds, quietly, almost ashamed and then Alexander understood what George was so carefully covering up: longing. It’s so deep, much deeper than it should be for something so simple as _ice skating_ , but Alexander knows the pain of being routinely denied a childhood desire.

So Alexander takes a deep breath, sets his jaw, grabs George by the writs and begins to pull him over to the rental booth. “We’re going skating then,” he says, ignoring George’s startled yelp. They’re already to the stand before George manages to start forming words.

“Alexand -”

“Two pairs,” Alexander says, pulling out his drinking money. “George, what size?”

“Alexander, this isn’t a good idea…” George trails as Alexander turns to him, pleading expression on his face. He knows he’s got one _hell_ of a puppy dog expression, and his suspicion that George would cave to it is confirmed as he sighs and tells the booth attendant his shoe size. He grumbles as he puts them on, but Alexander can see the spark of excitement in his eyes.

Eventually, Alexander pulls him out into the ice, George wobbling on thin blades and clutching the wall. Alexander does his best to teach him what to do, moving just fast enough that he doesn’t topple over. George struggles to match the easy, flowing movements Alexander is making, his body so stiff. He keeps up a steady stream of complaints - “ _Alexander_ we look foolish, oh this is for children, let's go back I’ll pay you for the skates -” and if Alexander didn’t know better he’d think George actually meant them.

But when George actually manages to let go of the wall and properly skate? The smile on his face could melt the ice under their feet. Alexander can’t tear his eyes from the sight of George, grinning like an idiot, so fucking happy, and that’s why he moves far too slowly to stop a small child from skating directly into George’s legs.

The child bounces off George’s legs and skates away smoothly, but George, still not quite completely steady on his feet, goes face-first into the ice, edges of his scarf flying up almost comically as he falls. The rink is one-way, so Alexander has to make a complete rotation of it before he can get back to George’s side.

By the time he gets there, George is already back up on his hands, head hung. Alexander can just hear him muttering to himself: “ _Stupid_ , bloody stupid, mum told you George, she _told_ you -”

“Are you alright?” Alexander asks, coming to an easy stop beside George. George flinches, looking up at Alexander. His face is bright red, eyes wet and wide in what almost looks like _fear_ but then his expression shuts down and he nods quickly.

“Yes, quite alright, just a little tumble,” George says, voice tight. Alexander hums, and George quickly sits himself up on his knees.

“Sorry!” The kid who hit him shouts as he skates by, and George waves the mother off before attempting to push himself to his feet.

“Hey, let me help you,’ Alexander says, quickly reaching out to help steady George, but George jerks away.

“I’m fine -” he yelps again as he goes back onto the ice, this time on his back. Alexander bites his lip to keep from laughing as George lets out a shuddering breath. “I’m alright, I’m just _fantastic_.”

“Are you sure you don’t want any help?” Alexander says, leaning over his prone figure. George screws up his nose and glares up.

“I’m perfectly capable of righting myself, thank you very much!” He says. He sits up, attempts to get his feet underneath him but just ends up falling flat on his ass again. Alexander can’t stop the little snicker this time, and George stiffens, before letting out a breath and trying again.

It takes George almost ten minutes to get back on his feet, and he ends up flat on the ice more often than not. The moment he’s back on his feet his hands are back on the rail and without a word he gets himself off the ice and quickly takes his shoes off. Alexander blinks, left standing on the ice alone as George puts his boots on and returns his ice skates.

“You done?” Alexander asks, uselessly. George nods stiffly, and then sits himself down on a bench by the rink.

“Yes, I’m done,” he says, his voice back to that same controlled politeness from the first time they met. Alexander frowns.

“Are you hurt?” He calls, leaning over the rail. George shakes his head.

“Not badly.” George crosses his arms. “You keep going, I’ll wait until you’re done acting like a child.” Alexander recoils, offended, and instantly George looks guilty. “No - no I just meant - I meant skating is a child’s activity and if you w-want to do it, that’s fine I just - I don’t want to.”

Alexander can still feel a snap of anger in his blood, but the way George drops his head and shrinks into the bench makes him stamp it down. He gets off the ice, changes his shoes and sits down next to George.

“Hey, it’s okay to be embarrassed,” Alexander says. George’s face just lights up even pinker and he lets out a breath. “Everyone’s shit at it the first time.”

“I suppose,” George mumbles, then falls silent. His breath is short, and he’s obsessively rubbing his fingers together over and over again. Alexander bites the inside of his cheek, and looks about.

“You want hot chocolate?” He asks, jerking his thumb towards the little stand on the other side of the street. George’s head jerks up, he glances over, hesitates, then ever so slightly nods. Alexander stands with an “alright!” and reaches for George’s arm like usual.

His fingers wrap around George’s wrist and he can feel the tension in his body in the split second before George rips his arm away. They look at each other for a long moment, George’s eyes anywhere but his, and Alexander forces himself to take a deep breath.

“I’ll be right back then,” Alexander says, stiffly. George flinches again but Alexander simply turns on his heel and marches over to the hot chocolate cart. A few minutes later he returns to George’s side with two steaming disposable mugs and holds one out to him. They sit in hard silence for a long few minutes, sipping hot chocolate.

Then Alexander hears George huff a laugh and he turns, one eyebrow cocked. George’s lips twitch upward in a smile as he motions towards his nose. Alexander frowns, reaches for his own and finds a bit of whipped cream on the end of it. George actually _giggles_ beside him and Alexander shoots him another ‘oh really?’ look before scooping more cream from his cup and dabbing it onto George’s nose.

George bats his hand away, accidentally smearing cream across his face and then they’re both laughing and the tense air is broken.

\--------------

The next time Alexander sees George he’s at a party for _La Secret du Roi’s_ debut on the New York Stock Exchange, the company officially listing in both America and Europe. He’s there as part of the press packet, not any sort of actual guest, but there’s free food and wine so Alexander isn’t going to complain.

He’s not expecting George to walk in, this is a party for a direct competitor of _King’s_ , but there he is talking to some woman in a little blue dress. She’s talking at him and he’s listening to her with his head tilted and the most complacent smile on his face.

Alexander ends up tracking him through the night. George ghosts between groups of businessmen with ease, and Alexander can’t stop himself from eavesdropping on him more than once. All he hears is the same few statements over and over again:

“Oh, it’s all just business competition isn’t it?” George says to a portly man Alexander knows is a reporter from the _Times,_ and then the reporter from _The Post_. “The Capet family has _always_ been good friends of my family.”

“I just stopped by to wish old Louis good luck on double listing. Quite risky in my opinion but, well, who am I to say anything?” He says, laughing pleasantly with a gaggle of women, then with a group of _Secret du Roi’s_ shareholders, and later still with another mixed bag of stockbrokers.

He moves with confidence, doesn’t stutter or stammer. His hands stay fixed at his sides or wrapped around a flute of champagne, completely still, no sign of fidgeting. Alexander is admittedly confused - where was the man who laughed until he was blue in the face over smudged whipped cream? But then he catches George’s eye while George is standing with a few men in black suits and he’s waved over.

“Ah, Alexander!” George says, offering his hand to Alexander. “Come, meet Louis Capet Sr.” George motions to an older man in the small gathering. Alexander blinks, then quickly offers his hand as George finishes the introduction. He keeps one hand firmly on Alexander’s shoulder as he lists off every other person standing around them - Capet’s son, grandson, grandson’s girlfriend, and a family friend.

“Vanity Fair, hm?” Capet Sr. asks, voice dripping in a French accent. “Here to rank our fashion choices?” He laughs, deep, and every other person at the circle does as well - including George. Alexander stays silent, fighting down the indignant anger threatening to rise up by grabbing his wine glass a bit tighter.

“Actually, I was hoping to be able to ask you a few questions about the economic viability of the _Roi_ stock on the New York Exchange,” Alexander says. _And about where you mine your diamonds_ , he adds in his head, but slow down Alexander, make the prey feel comfortable before you strike.

Capet Sr.’s eyebrow quirks upward, his thick mustache twitches. “Ah, right,” he says, almost grumbling. George’s hand on Alexander’s shoulder tightens, he looks over at Alexander with that placating smile.

“Perhaps that ought to wait until I’m not in earshot,” he says, joking. Alexander fights the urge to glare at him, George _laughed_ at him and his job. Instead, he forces a smile on his face and wonders how hard he can hold a glass before it breaks. Louis Jr. says something arrogant and banal that George also laughs at, and then the girlfriend says something airy and detached and George smiles at her and he _laughs_ at something else and he agrees and nods his head. He laughs and it makes Alexander’s skin crawl because something sounds _wrong_ -

“Excuse me gents, I simply must say my hellos to Charles,” George says with an apologetic smile before he leaves Alexander to the cold mercies of the Capet gathering for a twig-like man with a bulbous nose. Alexander manages to squeeze a promise out of the senior Capet for a full interview later, pulls out a pad and paper and starts to write everything he’s heard down, and when there are no objections form the Capets, Alexander slips off into the crowd.

If they wanted that conversation off the record, someone would have objected to Alexander writing _anything_ down.

He’s not quite sure how he and George end up in a corner of the ballroom alone together but that’s where the end up. When George realizes who he’s standing with, he gives Alexander a grin that _looks_ bright but there’s something unpalatable in it, something that makes Alexander pause.

“Alexander,” George says. “How are you enjoying the party?”

“It’s fine,” he says, scratching at his beard. “George, what the fuck are you doing here?”

George’s eyebrow quirks upward. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, _King’s_ and _Secret du Roi_ are direct competitors, why are you at a party _celebrating_ them?”

“Oh, it’s all just business competition isn’t it? The Capet family has _always_ been good friends of my family,” George says, but Alexander’s _heard_ that line before, many times, with just that same inflection. He looks up at George, with his placating, complacent smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, and his still-as-stone hands and the cold calculation in his eyes.

It’s George from the store, from the first time Alexander met him.

Alexander barely recognizes him.

\--------------

There are two conflicting concepts of “George King” in Alexander’s head when Alexander stands in the lobby of George’s apartment building, waiting for him to come down. Apparently, he lives in the penthouse and the elevator ride down itself will take like five minutes, so Alexander has a lot of time to sit there and make figure odds to which George is about to appear.

When the elevator doors _ding_ open, George comes into the lobby with wide, excited eyes and a big box in his hand. His eyes alight on Alexander and a grin splits his face, one that crinkles the skin around his eyes. His fingers drum on the sides of the box as he takes long strides to stand before Alexander.

Alright, _this_ George is one Alexander can work with.

“Good afternoon!” George says, chipper, excited energy radiating off him.

“Hey,” Alexander says, then glances down at the box. It’s wrapped in bright red paper with sparkling red ribbon and a giant, complex bow on the top. It looks wrapped with care, each line, edge and corner sharp and even. The perfect gift you see in commercials. It makes something harsh and ugly turn in his gut. “What’s this?”

George holds it out to Alexander. “For you!” He says. “I know Christmas was a while back, but I - well - got you something.” He looks at Alexander like a child on Christmas, like _he_ was getting the gift, not giving it.

“Thanks,” Alexander says, taking it from him. It feels heavy, but there’s no sound from it as Alexander tucks it under his arm. “You ready to go?”

George’s brows twitch together. “Aren’t you going to open it?” He asks, and when Alexander hesitates, he motions to it fervently. “Go on, open it!”

Alexander stifles a sigh, looks around and finds a nice table and chairs in the lobby. He drops the box onto the table and pokes at the bow before determining the bow is more for show than to be actually untied, so he jimmies the ribbon off and pulls off the paper. Though the perfect, precise wrapping makes him want to scowl, he gets rid of it efficiently and uncovers a nice white box.

George watches him pull the lid off the box, and Alexander can’t help but think he’s going to jump out of his skin. His fingers tap out a pattern on the table as Alexander pulls the tissue paper aside and reveals what’s inside.

It has to be the finest coat Alexander has ever put his hands on. It’s made perfectly, the inner lining soft and he can feel how warm it would be to wear. Underneath it was a hat and two, _two_ pairs of gloves, one pair has fur poking out the end. His fingers clench the fabric, his body runs cold.

He looks up at George, with his stupid smile and his stupid fucking bright eyes and oh Alexander feels like reaching up and punching that awful expression off his face.

“What’s this?” Alexander asks, working the fabric in his hands, voice hard. George’s expression doesn’t change.

“A gift,” he says, motioning to the box, “I thought you looked cold in that ratty thing, all worn out and full of holes.” He tugs on the edge of the coat Alexander’s wearing. “And thought you could do for some matching gloves and a hat.”

Alexander takes a deep, shaking breath, just barely containing the anger now coursing through him. “And what’s the big fucking idea getting me this stuff?” He glares at George, anger mounting as George’s expression finally falters, his head tilting slightly in confusion.

“It seemed like you were cold, I wanted to help,” he says, voice suddenly more hesitant.

“I don’t need any _help_ ,” Alexander spits, and it lands like it has actual physical force on George’s face. George leans back, shoulders drawing up and in, excitement long gone. “Not from you.”

“I -” George’s voice gets caught somewhere, his breathing starting to pick up. “I just - that’s what I’m - I don’t understand?

“You don’t understand?” Alexander repeats, in disbelief. “What don’t you understand? You stuck up, privileged asshole. You think you need to ‘help’ me? Think you need to sweep in like some rich savior? Huh?”

“I - I - no - I -” George swallows, his eyes flicking about, no able to meet Alexander’s hard gaze. His hands are balled in tight fists at his sides, arms ramrod straight. He opens his mouth again just as an awful thought strikes him.

“You trying to buy me?” Alexander snarls. “Trying to buy a reporter to have at your beck and call? Is that all I am to you?” He shoves George back, harsh, and George stumbles backwards. He just manages to stop himself from falling over

Then George says something odd, something that sounds like _“Pom-me-te”_ , he says it twice and then clamps his mouth shut. Alexander’s fists clench by his sides, his blood boiling in his veins. The lack of answer speaks volumes.

“Well fuck you,” Alexander says, “You can’t buy me and you’re a goddamn piece of shit for thinking you could.” Alexander spits - actually _spits_ \- at George’s feet, whirls and marches out of the lobby. Mentally cursing George out, Alexander storms down the sidewalk, walking away from George’s stupid fucking rich boy car and his stupid fucking rich boy driver who is rushing into the lobby now, but Alexander doesn’t care.

_Rich white people are all the same_ , Alexander thinks to himself. _Stuck up, pretentious, with their savior-complexes and holier-than-thou attitudes. George King is no fucking different._

He pretends the sinking feeling of disappointment isn’t there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops?
> 
> (Did y'all forget who was writing this? There's gonna be angst.)
> 
> Anyway fuck pollen I'm going back to bed.
> 
> See you Friday


	5. Google Translate Russian Is Dicey As Hell But Here We Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George and Alexander have a talk. Peter and Adrienne are saints.

George is having one of his fits again.

The only calm, logical, distant portion of his brain knew that, but the rest of him was so busy actually having the fit that George couldn’t hear that part. Instead, all he heard was Alexander saying _you’re a goddamn piece of shit,_ and _You don’t understand? What don’t you understand?_

He felt like screaming but couldn’t, his throat was locked up and his fists were clenched so tight his fingernails dug into his palms. He couldn’t see anything, eyes unfocused and his breath came in burning half-breaths and it hurt so bad and he couldn’t breathe but he can’t speak and _What don’t you understand?_

He feels completely out of control, even though his body is rigid, hard as a statue, every muscle contracted as tight as it could go. His entire world is just the tightness in his body and the storm in his head and it’s narrowing and narrowing. He needs to move, he needs to get out of here, he can’t move, he needs Peter where is Peter he said his panic word _where is Peter -_

“George, _George_.” Oh, there’s Peter, standing before him, putting his hands on George’s shoulders.

“ _Помогите,_ ” he hisses, it’s the only word that seems to exist in his head right now. “Помогите, Помогите.” _Pomogite_. _Help, help, help_.

“Yes,” Peter says, deep voice a cool splash of water on the out-of-control bonfire in his head. “I am here.” George can feel Peter’s eyes on him, but he can’t look up, can’t meet his eyes, he’s a piece of shit and a disrespectful child and _look at me when someone is talking to you George_ -

“George, focus on me,” Peter says. That accent is familiar, comforting, something George knows. He knows the up and down inflection, he knows the pattern, it’s something solid. Peter’s hands slide down George’s arms, grab his hands and hold them up, palm up. “Can you stretch out first finger?”

George swallows, lets out a shuddering breath and focuses on his own hands until both of his pointer fingers are pointing towards Peter. “Good,” Peter says. “Now take deep breath, then second finger.”

George complies focusing on breathing and moving his fingers until his hands are flat and relaxed. With one last breath, George feels every ounce of tension flee his body and he can’t stop from going limp. Peter is there, though, gathering George into his arms before he hits the ground.

Peter doesn’t speak as he gently leads a pliant George back to the elevator. There’s no need to speak, George can’t talk again yet, and if he needs something not part of the usual ritual he’ll tug on Peter’s sleeve and Peter will figure out what it is, like he always does.

George only barely notices the man at the desk, his face buried purposely in his newspaper. He’s paid not to talk, not to see or hear anything. The knowledge this won’t get out makes George’s heartbeat a little slower, his breath come a little easier.

He stays pressed against Peter all the way back up to his apartment, lets Peter unlock his door and lead George into the front room. He gently helps George to the couch and grabs the heavy blanket from underneath it. The moment it’s placed around George’s shoulders he can finally breathe normally again, the pressure settling against him in just the right way as Peter wraps it around him. His limbs still aren’t fully functional, but that’s alright as they end up wrapped up under the blanket as well.

Peter tucks the corner of the blanket into place, securing it around George before quickly, but calmly, walking to the kitchen. George lets out a breath, then lets himself slump to the side. Now that he’s calm, he can think more clearly. _Thank god it was a quiet fit_ , he thinks. _Not one of the loud ones._ He couldn’t have dealt with having a loud one in public. Mum would have him brought back to England, and he’d have to go back to living with her, and he would fail the family -

Peter putting the glass of water, pudding cup and spoon on the coffee table centers his thoughts again, the sound cutting through the clutter in his head. What uneasiness was building goes away as Peter helps George sit back up and holds him against his side. All that’s left is a numbness and it’s just about all George can do to open his mouth as Peter feeds him little spoonfuls of pudding and sips of water.

When it’s all gone, Peter scratches him gently on the scalp and says “Good, you did good.”

George hums in response. Words aren’t fully back yet but -

“Hates me,” he manages to get out. _Alexander hates me. He knows I’m a piece of shit and it was just a matter of time -_

“I am sure that is not case,” Peter says. George shakes his head.

“Called me - ” George swallows, looking for words. Why is it so hard to speak, he’s so _stupid_. “Called me a stuck-up asshole.”

He can feel Peter stiffen, feels his own body mimic it before Peter lets out a low breath and George can physically relax along with him.

“He is wrong,” Peter says. They sit in silence for a few moments, George gathering up the ability and energy to speak again.

“I don’t know what I did wrong,” he says. Honestly and truthfully, he does not understand. _What don’t you understand?_ Alexander asks in his head.

_I don’t know,_ George says, _I don’t know. You’re the one who broke script, not me, so what did I do wrong?_

\--------------

When Adrienne finds out what happened, she looks at him with soft sympathy and cancels everything that Monday. It can take George a day to recover from a big one like that, but by Tuesday he’s back on his feet and trying to ignore what happened last weekend.

But then Adrienne presses his phone into his hands on Thursday and says: “Call him.”

George doesn’t have to ask who she’s referring to. He looks down at the phone and back up at her, placating smile on his face. “Who?”

“You know who,” she says. “You should call him and invite him out for drinks on Saturday.”

If George is bad at reading people, he’s hopeless at reading Adrienne. For all the time they’ve spent together, he’s never managed to crack the code of her neutral, unflinching expression. She looks at him with it now, as she always does, simply waiting for him to do as she instructed.

George swallows, purses his lips together and considers faking it, call someone else or just not call anyone at all. But Adrienne would check and know and be so disappointed in him, and well, he _wants_ to talk to Alexander. He tries not to think about it but it’s only been a few days and George already misses him.

So he picks Alexander’s contact from his phone and calls him, breath caught in his throat until the call connects and he hears Alexander's terse, guarded voice on the other side.

“Yes?” He asks. George has to remind himself it’s his turn to speak.

“Hello Alexander,” he says, hoping his fear isn’t coming through his ‘business voice.’

“Hey,” Alexander says. For a man of many words he seemingly doesn’t have many now. There’s a pause, no ‘how are you,’ and George fights down the feeling of _wrongness_ at the skipped pleasantries.

“I um,” George hums, fingers drumming against his leg, Adrienne watching him over her glasses. “I wanted to invite you out for drinks and conversation.” There’s another tense silence, and George’s breath starts to pick up. “I thought we could discuss what happened on Sunday and perhaps find a common understanding?”

After a long moment, George’s fingernails digging into his thigh, he hears Alexander sigh.

“Yeah alright,” he says. “Wanna go to that speakeasy I told you about?”

George feels a wave of relief course through him, he lets go of his leg and his traitorous hand starts to shake and tremble with it. “Absolutely, that sounds wonderful.” He wonders if the relief is audible in his voice. “Saturday, six pm?”

“Yeah sure, I’ll send you the address. Meet you there.”

“Excellent,” George says, but Alexander has already hung up. The abrupt ending cuts the relief short. “See you soon, Alexander,” he completes to the empty air, almost on impulse. He lowers the phone and looks at Adrienne. Her expression still has not changed, but when he feeds her the information - and the address when Alexander texts it to him - she nods her approval and logs the event in her calendar.

\--------------

George spends the time until Saturday evening in a suspended state of nerves only calmed by work. He spends hours holed away in the second floor, carefully putting together pieces of custom jewelry. He can’t do any of the extreme detail or complicated work, but he can sort things, file orders and carefully attach the fastening clasps to necklaces. The repetitive work is soothing, gives him something to focus on so the rest of the buzzing in his head quiets.

When he’s not doing that he’s breezing past business meetings with suppliers, throwing the same empty lines, business proposals and reassurances that his mother gave him during their weekly call on Wednesdays.

But Sunday comes around and George spends all day planning what he’s going to wear, what he’s going to say and preparing himself for the worst. By the time he’s getting out of his car he’s in business mode, but gets shocked out of his head when he realizes he’s looking at a bookshop, not a pub.

He checks with Peter that this is the right place and when he gets confirmation he waffles on the sidewalk, uneasy fear mounting. Is it really a bookshop? Did Alexander’s ‘speakeasy’ go out of business and replaced? If he walks in there and asks for directions is he about to be laughed out of the state and -

“Hey,” Alexander’s curt voice startles George so bad he nearly jumps out of his skin. Alexander lets out a small chuckle at George’s alarm as George lets out a deep breath He looks over, finds Alexander standing on the sidewalk, hands in the pockets of his coat.

His new-looking, sleek black tailored coat.

George blinks, leaning back slightly as he takes in the sight. The old ratty parka is gone and this coat looks _nice_ on him. Tailored just right to make him look taller, thinner, more professional. It’s not a peacoat like the one George had made, but it’s well made, like someone took the time to make it with care and love. In a word, it looks _expensive_.

_I don’t need your help_ , comes a memory from just last weekend, but George swallows it down and lets out another breath.

“You look nice,” he says. Alexander purses his lips, George sees where his hands flex inside his pockets.

“Thanks,” he says. “A friend of mine is a tailor.”

George _knows_ there’s something there, just underneath those words, but it eludes him, like it always does. His heart sinks at the words ‘a friend of mine,’ all he can think is _oh_. Alexander’s _friend_ got him that coat. Not George.

George looks around, avoiding eye contact, using the cover of his actual confusion to mask the act of disrespect. “So, why are we in front of a bookshop?”

The corner of Alexander’s mouth turns upward. “Come on,” he says, jerking his head towards the shop door. George bites his tongue to center himself, nods and holds the door open for Alexander.

The shop inside is a small but respectable bookshop, enough shelves that George is tempted to go perusing. Maybe there’s a book Nanna would like somewhere in here, but Alexander is walking to the other side of the shop with a purpose. The opposite wall is lined with shelves, and George follows Alexander up to one. The woman at the counter doesn’t even look at them while Alexander moves some books aside and knocks on the back of the shelf.

To George’s amazement, a panel on the back of the shelf slides open and through it he can see a pair of eyes. Alexander leans up into it, having to stand on his toes. “Waterfalls,” he says, and the panel slides shut. Then, just like they’re standing in a mystery movie, the bookshelf swings open.

A man standing in the newly revealed opening says: “Welcome back,” and motions George and Alexander into another room, one smaller than the bookshop. It’s darkly lit inside, and it gets darker as the bookshelf swings shut. There’s a few crowded booths, a couple of tables and a small bar area, populated only by a bartender, the doorman and a handful of others.

“Alexander,” George says, even as Alexander starts to maneuver his way to a corner booth. “Where are we?”

“A speakeasy, I told you,” Alexander says. He wiggles into the booth, and motions to the other side. “It’s the whole experience! Secret rooms, passwords, historical setup. You do know what a speakeasy is, don’t you?” Alexander asks, one eyebrow cocked. George shakes his head as he slides into his seat.

“Special type of pub?” George guesses

“‘Pub,’” Alexander snorts “I forget how British you are sometimes, no wonder you don’t know what a speakeasy is.” George hides his wince as settling into his seat. “So uh, the 20’s, the US outlawed alcohol, but to get around it the mafia started running bars called speakeasies that sold illegal liquor. There’s a couple places in New York like this one that imitate what a speakeasy would have been like.”

George nods, hoping he’ll remember that but knowing he probably won’t. Never was any good in history in school, no matter how hard he tired. A man in simple uniform comes by to take their orders, and George just gets whatever Alexander orders. He doubts they serve wine or champagne here, so whatever a ‘Floradora’ is George will just grin and bear it.

“So,” Alexander says. “What was it you said? You wanted ‘drinks and conversation?’”

George nods, holding his fingers as still against the table as he can manage. “I wanted to apologize.” Alexander’s eyebrows shoot up and he leans back into his seat. George clears his throat, trying to hold his voice as steady, calm and businesslike as possible.

“I’m sorry that I offended you,” George says. “I am completely unaware of what it was I did that was so offensive, but I’m sorry.”

Alexander’s eyes widen. “You don’t know what you did?” He asks. “And you’re sorry _I_ was _offended_? What kind of half-assed apology is that?”

George’s breath catches in his throat, he digs the nails of one hand into the other to try and ground himself. He can’t start having another fit right now. “How am I supposed to properly apologize when I don’t know what part of my actions offended you?” George asks.

“Holy shit,” Alexander breathes. “You’re so far up your own ass, aren’t you?”

George pulls down the snap of anger he feels, emotions have no place in this conversation. “Maybe if you would enlighten me on what I did so grievously wrong, I could apologize properly.”

Alexander looks around in disbelief, like he’s looking for someone else to have heard what George just said. George feels his heart flutter in his chest as Alexander turns angry eyes on him. “I want you to take a wild _fucking_ guess,” Alexander says.

_Now, tell me what you did wrong George,_ comes George’s mum’s voice in his head. He breathes, he has to speak steady now or risk more anger. He really doesn’t know what he did, but he has to pick and make his best guess. This is his first infringement against Alexander, so maybe it won’t be too bad if he gets it wrong?

God, he hopes it won’t be too bad.

“I overestimated the nature of our relationship,” George says. “I had incorrectly assumed we were friends when we were not, and I apologize for that.”

\--------------

Well, _shit_.

Of all the things Alexander expected to hear out of George’s mouth, that was _not_ it.

And goddamnit if George doesn’t look honest. There’s the cover of this stiff, emotionless man over it, but Alexander had started to begin to know George and he can see under it where he’s being honest.

But Alexander is still angry, and shock mixed with anger is not a pleasant combination in Alexander, so when he opens his mouth it’s for a scathing: “So you claim you weren’t trying to buy me off?”

George blinks, a crack in the businesslike front, the front from the party and the store and the cafe. “Buy you off?” George asks, and there’s that confusion again, like George really _doesn’t_ get it. He’s either a much better actor than Alexander gives him credit for or -

“Yeah, buy me off. Shower a reporter in gifts and money so they’ll print good things for you. Help you out in the press, that kind of thing.” Alexander sees George pulls back, his eyes widening. “Oh come on, you know what I’m talking about. People like you do it all the time.”

George looks struck, maybe the front is starting to break down or maybe Alexander just knows him well enough now to start to see through it. He opens his mouth to speak but the waiter comes back with their drinks just then. He sets down matching glasses and asks them if they want anything to eat. Alexander waves him off and when he looks back at George he sees something he hadn’t expected.

George almost looks like he’s about to cry. He’s wide eyed, staring at the table, blinking rapidly to clear the sheen of tears building. The fingers of one hand are pressing so hard into the other Alexander is almost concerned that he’ll break skin. Alexander frowns, his brow furrowed, suddenly unsure of himself.

“No, I - that’s far from what I intended,” George says. “I didn’t even consider the possibility.”

“So you just buy your friends expensive stuff all the time?” Alexander asks, not quite believing it, his instincts looking for the ‘gotcha.’ George nods, looking up, but not quite meeting his eyes.

“Of course,” he says. “What else does one do?” And he says it so earnestly too, like he doesn’t see the problem. _Maybe he really doesn’t_ , Alexander realizes in a flash. _Maybe_ -

“All your other friends exchange gifts like that?” Alexander asks. Once again George nods, and Alexander can see where he’s doing his best to breathe even and steady.

“Gifts are the best way to ensure friendship and further economic alliances and it’s how you show people you like them,” George says, hollow, like he’s pratting off something from an instruction manual he was forced to memorize as a child instead of actually engaging in human social interaction.

And suddenly Alexander understands. He looks at his man in his pristine suit and careful haircut, sitting there halfway to tears because he honestly truly believed he was just being friendly, and he finally knows that George is so fucking lonely. Alexander thinks of the Capet family, the cordial manner they and George interacted and “ _they’re old family friends_ ” and knows that George isn’t friends with the Capets, not really. Not beyond business parties and holiday gifts and pleasant, empty conversation.

Alexander realizes with a sinking feeling that there’s a good chance George King has never had a real, honest-to-god friend in his life. Even worse: there’s a good change George doesn’t even know that.

And with that little piece of knowledge, a few things fall into place for Alexander, the least of which is the issue of that damned gift. Speaking of which -

“Hey,” Alexander says softly, and George’s eyes flick to his for just a moment before flicking away again. “Hey, I didn’t understand. I misinterpreted it and acted like a jerk.” George’s gaze is back on him again, this time in sheer shock and surprise. “People have tried to bribe me in the past, and I just… assumed you were following the pattern. I’m sorry,” he says.

And then there’s a flash of realization, of understanding on George’s face. A smile appears, shaky but a smile, and George lets out a breathy laugh of relief. “We both broke the pattern for the other then,” he says. “I - I understand.”

The corner of Alexander’s mouth twitches upward, and George wipes his face with one hand. “I apologize for getting emotional,” George says. “There’s no place for it in conversation between business acquaintances, and I -”

“Hey, hey, no,” Alexander says, lurching forward quickly. “No, we’re friends,” he says. George freezes in place, looking at Alexander with wide disbelieving eyes. Alexander offers him a smile, but George still shrinks back.

“But I thought -” his gaze flicks over to where Alexander’s coat is bundled up in the corner. Alexander sucks in a breath, and puts one hand on it like he’s trying to shield it from George’s view.

“No, hey, that has nothing to do with the fact I’m friends with the guy who made it. I bought it from him, full price,” Alexander says quickly. “I don’t usually _do_ the gift thing between friends.”

George blinks, confused for a moment but then he smiles back. “Different customs, I suppose,” he says. He still looks kind of upset, but more the kind from a bench outside a skating rink that Alexander can get to go away with some whipped cream. “Is there a bathroom in this place?”

Alexander nods, points the way and George excuses himself. Alexander isn’t stupid, he knows George just needs a moment, but that’s alright. He’s already making plans to salvage tonight, get George to relax and mend things between them. He’s already decided he doesn’t want to see that boy cry, not even get close again.

By the time George gets back, Alexander has already ordered a considerable amount of alcohol, and it’s all sitting on the table. “Come on,” he says to George’s hesitant look, “I won’t be able to drink this all myself!”

\-------------

George was dropped off at Adrienne’s a few hours and many drinks later, practically falling off Alexander’s shoulder. The smaller man apparently had a much higher tolerance than poor George, who stumbled into Adrienne’s place a blabbering, fidgeting mess. His hands wouldn’t stay still and he refused to let go of Alexander until Adrienne collected him and put him to bed.

Getting him in bed was a task, even by Adrienne’s usual ‘Get George King to do something’ standards. He kept mumbling almost incoherently, and he wouldn't let go of her hand until he was asleep.

When Adrienne comes back out of her guest bedroom, she finds Alexander standing in her kitchen, awkwardly, his hands in his pockets. “Thank you for bringing him home,” she said. Alexander nodded, looked towards the door but hesitated. Adrienne glanced at the clock - it was late and she wanted to go to bed, but -

“You two get everything worked out?” She asks. Once again, Alexander nods.

“Yeah, we’re good,” he says. “Sorry for waking you up Miss. Noelles.”

“Adrienne,” she corrects. “And it’s my job to be woken up.”

Alexander lets out a little laugh at that, and she thinks he’s about to say goodnight, but instead he looks at her with this intensity in his eyes. The famous Alexander Hamilton determination, she’s heard of it from the background research she’s done. To see it in person is much different, no wonder he’s managed to slip past George’s guard.

“George doesn’t… he doesn’t have many friends does he?” Alexander asks, but he’s asking like he already knows the answer.

“He has plenty of friends,” she says. Alexander’s jaw sets.

“I mean actual friends. Not the Capet’s or anyone else like them,” he says. “ _Actual_ friends.”

Adrienne smiles. “It’s not my place to comment on the nature of George’s relationships,” she says.

“But if you were,” he presses. _Reporters_ , she thinks, but for the first time it’s almost fond. She doesn’t like members of the press, they tend to cause George stress, but Alexander...

“If I were,” Adrienne begins, “I would say George… struggles with creating and maintaining platonic relationships. I wouldn’t know how many of his friends are, in your words, ‘actual’ friends.” Alexander’s eyes flicker, searching her for something more. She gives it to him with: “but if you stick around, perhaps that might change. The count would certainly increase by one.”

Alexander blinks, he sucks in a breath, like he’s got another question but Adrienne cuts him off with “Goodnight, Alexander. Hope to see you soon.” Alexander hesitates, weighing his options before simply saying goodnight.

He leaves, and Adrienne watches him head off into the night towards the subway. She checks on George, makes sure he’s still asleep on his side, before slipping into bed. Quietly, in her private version of George’s calendar, she marks out a few evenings and labels them “Possible A. Ham.”

In the calendar George’s mother Agatha can see, Adrienne marks those evenings off with various made up names and titles. Better safe than sorry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Historically KG3's Mom was really named Augusta but like, I started calling her Agatha by mistake and I already wrote her name as such into my backlog chapters so it's Agatha now fuck you I make the rules around here.
> 
> Finals are coming up so you know what that means: Me making a statement to cover my ass in case I miss an update for whatever reason but ultimately not missing one anyway. But make the statement I will anyway. I may miss an update because finals but I'll be sure to let y'all know what's happening.
> 
> See you Friday.


	6. The Risk Alexander Took Was Calculated, But Man, Is He Bad At Math

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party boys have arrived.

George wakes up to a headache and a series of photos sent to him by Alexander of himself - pink faced and absolutely knackered. There’s even a video of him leaning against a streetlight, slurring his way through a speech about boats, arms flapping at his sides.

He groans, the light of his phone and the contents of those pictures and that video making his head worse. He has a brief panicked thought about those making it out to the public, of his _mum_ finding out, but then he remembers _we’re friends_ and he so badly wants to trust Alexander…

**_Delete those,_** he sends Alexander. A few moments later, he gets a **_nope :p_** in reply. A second text he gets reads **_how’s the hangover?_**

**_Painful_** , he responds.

**_whoops,_** he gets back, followed by what looks like a little shrugging man made out of symbols and George smiles at it.

And that’s how Alexander and George start texting regularly.

\--------------

“... and profits this quarter are projected to surpass original expectations,” George says, leaning into the conference speaker, “the word of mouth from the holiday rush turned out to be much stronger and more persuasive than expected.”

“And what about sales for the Royal Sapphire line?” Says Walpole, CFO for _King’s_. George glances at his papers, grateful they’re not on video conference and he doesn’t have to have it all memorized, as long as no one, especially Mum, hears the paper rustle.

“Again, better than projected, but still down compared to the other lines,” George says. “Once the novelty of having a _King’s_ in the city wears off, Royal Sapphire will probably start drawing similar losses to European branches.”

“The traffic numbers are a lot higher than sales numbers,” Bute, the COO, says. George can hear his mother’s terse sigh as he speaks, but she doesn’t say anything. His mouth goes dry, but before he has to speak his grandfather.

“As it always is for a new branch,” Papa says. “Once things get settled it will even out.” Walpole hums his agreement and Bute starts to stutter something out but Papa cuts him off with a clearing of his throat. “If that’s the only objection, then I say George has done an excellent job with starting the company off in America.”

“Indeed,” Bute says, a bit audibly cowed.

“Congratulations,” Walpole adds.

Mum doesn’t say anything at all.

“Thank you,” George says, relief flooding through him.

———————

**_you free?_ **

George looks at Alexander’s message, the tiniest hint of excitement sprouting inside him. _No,_ he thinks, _don’t get your hopes up,_ _you’re probably busy_. But then he looks at his calendar and there’s nothing there. Before he can respond, Alexander texts him again.

**_i know you are i already texted adri im coming to get you in twenty b there or b square_ **

George rolls his eyes but gets up from the couch. Twenty minutes to make himself presentable, that’s doable. If he knew where Alexander wanted to take him, it would be beyond simple, but Alexander loves his little surprises.

(George would like it if Alexander gave him a mystery time table at least; an hour at location A, an hour and a half at location B, home by 1, just so he knows how long he’s going to be out. But he doesn’t think Alexander considers that much detail in his plans. For anyone else, it might cause a minor fit, but he bites it down, manages to center himself. He wants to go too bad.)

George is still in his Friday suit so he just fixes his hair and eats some of his safe foods, soft things like a banana or a few spoonfuls of applesauce, just so he’s not starving the whole night in case he can’t force himself to eat something Alexander wants.

By the time Alexander gets there he’s ready to go. Outings with Alexander have become, if not regular, at least commonplace, but he’s never _done_ anything like this or had a friend like this it’s still makes butterflies erupt in his stomach.

That’s what it is, certainly, not the skinny jeans Alexander is wearing and the low-cut top.

“Heyo,” Alexander says, glancing up when George comes out of the elevator. He does a double take between George and the phone in his hand, gaze freezing on George. He glances up and down, scanning George’s body, light in his eyes flaring in a way that makes George’s whole body warm.

_Stop it,_ George tells himself. Alexander clears his throat.

“You - alright, let’s go then,” he says, whirling around and marching towards the door.

\--------------

Oh Alexander is _so_ fucked.

It’s not that he doesn’t know George is an attractive man and it’s not like he hasn’t seen George in well-fitting suits before, no, that’s not the case. Usually Alexander can just admire silently without appearing flustered and let his mind wander when he’s alone in bed at night, but today, there’s something different today.

Maybe it’s because Alexander knows where they’re going and he knows that a pretty boy like George wearing the suit he’s wearing walking into _Dorothy’s_ is going to turn quite a few heads, and something about that twists in Alexander’s gut. And now he’s thinking about George being desired by other men and that really shouldn’t bother him this much.

George is _painfully_ straight, and that’s the part of the point of going to _Dorothy’s_ tonight. He has to be okay with that part of Alexander if they really are going to be friends, but Alexander realizes he’s about to throw an cute but oblivious guy right into a fucking gay bar.

They keep up easy conversation, riding the subway with Peter - turns out the guy is also George’s bodyguard - standing just out of earshot of normal speaking levels. The closer they get to _Dorothy’s_ the more Alexander starts to get a little anxious. Oddly, he’s less worried about George breaking out into a homophobic tirade than he is some bear trying to pick George up.

The outside of _Dorothy’s_ is fairly inconspicuous, but the moment you walk in you’re presented with a big rainbow pride flag stretched across the wall, with other types of flags scattered across the others. There’s Lady Gaga playing over the speakers and two men making out beside the door.

Alexander can see the moment George processes what he’s seeing and what that means. George’s face goes from pleasantly content in their conversation to wide-eyed, scandalized shock, color draining from his cheeks so fast Alexander is actually afraid he’s going to tip over.

“Oh,” is all George says, voice high and tight. Alexander’s heart clenches, he opens his mouth to speak -

“Hey! Alexander!” Alexander turns to towards the sound of his name being called, finds John Laurens leaning out of a wall booth and waving. “Over here!” Hercules Mulligan and Lafayette also quickly throw their hands in the air to signal their location. Alexander waves back, and he’s already this far in, might as well commit, so he grabs George by the wrist and pulls him through the bar.

“Alexander?” George asks, voice tight and full of trepidation.

“My friends,” he explains, and that’s the _other_ reason he’s brought George here. The man needs more friends, and even if George just warms up to _one_ of them then Alexander has done his job. He glances back at George and for a split second he sees fear in the man’s eyes, and then they’re at the table and George has his mask back on.

“Hello Alexander,” Lafayette says, swirling his drink with his straw.

“And _hello_ Alexander’s friend,” John says, eyes on George, head tilted. Alexander smiles as George raises one hand in a silent wave.

“Guys, this is George,” he says, “George, the guys.” He runs through introductions. Herc offers George his hand to shake (which George obediently returns), Lafayette smiles at George and John -

“Nice to meet you, _George_.” John says George’s name like he’s trying to taste each letter, each sound, his gaze quite obviously travelling up and down, checking George out. Alexander’s lips purse, he wants to reach out and grab George’s hand.

“And you the same,” George responds. Lafayette’s lips twist upward and Herc masks his smile in a gulp of whiskey. John’s eyebrows fly up, he grins wide with white teeth.

“Where you from, pretty boy?” John asks, and George’s face goes from pale to beet red in an instant.

“Britain,” George says. John nods, eyes still on George.

“Take a seat.” John pats the space in the booth next to him but in George’s moment of hesitation, Alexander slides in that place instead.

“Stop it John,” he mutters, swatting John on the shoulder. John’s flirtatious smile turns amused, he cocks one eyebrow and looks down at Alexander.

“Oh?” He asks, then leans in close to Alexander’s side to say lowly: “Are we jealous?”

“You’re making him uncomfortable,” Alexander says, then turns back to George, who hasn’t moved. His fingers on his left hand are drumming on his thigh. “Ignore him, he’s just fucking with you.”

“Oh that’s close to what I want to be doing,” John says, his gaze sliding back to George as he picks up his drink and wrapping his lips around the straw. He doesn’t take his eyes off George, even as George somehow gets even redder.

George is cute flustered, but Alexander is ready to wring John’s neck. “I said _stop_ ,” he snaps. John looks at him, back up at George, then leans back against the wall with a laugh.

“Okay, okay,” he says. “I took it too far, sorry George.” He glances to the other two men in the booth. “Though it begs the question, who’s little Alexander jealous of?” Alexander feels his eyes widen, but he doesn’t move. Movement would be considered confirmation. “Can’t be George, we’ve already been around the block and didn’t like it.”

“John shut up,” Alexander says. “George is a friend, and _straight_ , and I brought him for a friendly outing.” He looks up at George, whose fingers are dancing the tarantella against his leg. “George is new in town and he needs a few folks to just hang out with.”

George looks at him, panic and _no_ in his eyes, hidden behind a neutral yet pleasant mask, but then Herc is standing, grabbing him by the shoulders and shuffling him into the booth between him and Laf. “You brought him to the right people!” Herc says. “What do you drink George? You look like a whisky guy.”

“No one but you is a ‘whisky guy’ anymore,” John says. Herc shoots him a look over the table.

“Plenty of people like whisky,” he says. John rolls his eyes and soon they’re in the usual debate. George is tense between Laf and Herc, shoulders scrunched as he tries to sit without touching either of them physically. He’s gone back to being pale again, and his eyes are glued on the table in what Alexander realizes is fear. Alexander is just starting to wonder if maybe he made a mistake, if he shouldn’t have brought George to meet the gang, but then Lafayette turns to him and says:

“Say, forgive me if I’m wrong, but you wouldn’t be George _King_ would you?”

George turns to him, the walls carefully constructed across his face undermined by the fact he looks as white as a sheet.

“Umm, yes,” George says. “That would be me.” Lafayette’s eyes light up, he leans onto the table to look at George better.

“I thought so! Knew you from the news, your little store was big news around here.”

“I wouldn’t call it little -“ George starts, but Lafayette waves him off.

“ _Non,_ I did not mean to offend,” Lafayette says. “I’m from France myself, Lafayette is my last name.”

Recognition spreads across George’s face. “You wouldn’t be part of _the_ Lafayette family? The wine makers?”

Lafayette smiles, a bit sadly. “Yes, but I’m - what do you say - the _black sheep_ of the family. I doubt any of them would acknowledge my existence anymore.”

George frowns, lips pursed, and god bless Lafayette and his near ability to read minds because he answers the question George so obviously wants to ask: “Apparently being a bisexual male model was neither appropriate for me or conducive to the family reputation.”

George sucks in a breath, and he looks around the table, only to make eye contact with Alexander. “So, am I to assume you’re all…”

Alexander lets out a breath and bites the bullet. “A bit gay?” He asks. “Yeah, kinda. Laf and I are bi and John’s gay.”

“I’m the token straight,” Herc says, finally breaking from his animated yet routine alcohol argument with John. “Though there’s two of us now, yeah?” He gently punches George on the shoulder, and Alexander makes a mental note to mention George isn’t all that comfortable with physical contact.

But George just winces a little under the impact, offers Herc a shaky smile and nods at the other three. “Great, that’s… excellent. Marvelous. Lovely. Fan-“

“George?” Alexander says. George looks at him, mouth stilling. “Chill a bit, it’s not a Thing unless you make it a Thing.”

George nods again, and then looks around. “Do they serve wine here?” He asks, obviously trying to change the subject. Lafayette takes pity on him.

“Yes but I wouldn’t. It’s all cheap Merlot,” he says with a _tisk_. He pulls George into a conversation about wine that morphs back into the usual alcohol debate. Herc finally gets George to admit he prefers whisky over beer, to John’s chagrin.

Once the conversation starts flowing, George starts to sort of calm down. His shoulders relax just a fraction, but it’s enough to let Alexander know he’s starting to find his groove.

With a couple of glasses of whisky in him, George even starts to show cracks in the easy, placating, pleasing nature of Business George (as Alexander has started to refer to it as). But George doesn’t drink too much after he mentions he’s starting to feel a little bit too buzzed.

By the time Lafayette says he’s got to go, George is genuinely smiling. He actually looks a bit disappointed as the boys start to pay up their tabs and get ready to leave. He’s doing his best to match the amicable goodbyes, but Alexander can tell he’s sad the night’s over.

George does light up like a child on their birthday when Lafayette asks him to swap phone numbers on the sidewalk outside _Dorothy’s,_ and George ends up smiling all the way back to the subway. Peter materializes out of nowhere, but stays his usual distance away, even on the train car.

“So,” Alexander says, nudging George with his arm, “have fun tonight?”

George nods. “Yeah, yeah I did,” he says, breezy smile still on his face.

“I’m glad.” Alexander holds on right to the subway pole as the car sways. “We go to _Dorothy’s_ every other week, if you wanna join us?” George looks at him, smile faltering for the first time.

“Oh, I couldn’t intrude on your friends,” he says.  Alexander frowns, one eyebrow raised.

“You wouldn’t be intruding, I’m inviting you,” Alexander replies. George’s fingers start that drumming up again.

“Shouldn’t you check with your friends first?” George asks. “If they didn’t like me, I don’t think they’d take kindly to you forcing them to associate with me.”

Alexander takes a deep breath. “George, come on. They liked you. Laf asked for your number.” George looks down at his phone, lips pursed. Alexander resists the urge to roll his eyes. “George. _Georgie_. Listen to me, they liked you.”

George’s eyes flick back to Alexander. “Georgie?” He asks. Alexander shrugs.

“Georgie, ya know, ‘ _Georgie Porgie puddin’ and pie?_ ’” Alexander makes an exaggerated exasperated noise. “You’re _British_ , don’t you know that song?”

George chuckles, his fingers still but there relaxed. He’s not forcing them to stay still. “I suppose I do,” he says. Alexander knocks him gently on the arm again.

“Alright then Georgie. Drinks with the boys again in two weeks?” Alexander feels like he’s almost holding his breath, waiting anxiously before George nods.

“Alright.”

There’s a lull in the conversation. Just before they reach George’s stop, Alexander notices George keeps looking at him. Very brief looks, and if George sees Alexander looking back he pretends he wasn’t looking in the first place. He keeps doing it, all the way until he’s in the elevator in his building and they wave goodbye and the doors shut between them.

The expression on George’s face had almost been like there was something he wanted to say to Alexander, something _important_ he wanted to tell him. But he hadn’t, just said goodnight and left Alexander to make his way back home.

\--------------

George wants to _scream_.

Alexander said goodbye in the lobby, and George almost invited him up. He almost asked him for a goodbye hug. He almost - he almost -

He almost told Alexander about _It_.

_God,_ for the first time in his _whole life,_ George had almost told somebody. He’d actually _wanted too_. And that was the scariest part, the part of his brain screaming at George to just say _It_. Tell Alexander. Get _It_ out of his head.

Maybe it was the booze - no, if it was George would have said _It_ when he got drunk at the speakeasy.

Maybe it was the location, the awful, wonderful gay club - no, if it was George would have said _It_ when they walked in.

It had to be the _Georgie_ , it had to be. There was nothing else. A _pet name_ almost brought _It_ out of him.

_Maybe I should have_ , George thinks to himself as he gets ready for bed, crawling between the sheets. _Maybe I should have told him._

_No_ , he thinks just a moment later. _It’s not important. It doesn’t matter. He might have gotten the wrong idea. Not that it would have necessary been the_ wrong _idea, he’s… he’s so..._

But George can’t follow that train of thought, won’t let himself follow that flight of fancy. It would just lead to unnecessary heartache and nothing about _It_ can ever be done but just ignore it.

He buries his face in the pillow and lets out a long, loud noise.

_Ignore It, It doesn’t matter, you’re okay,_ he thinks to himself, _be a good boy George. Be a good boy._

\--------------

In another part of Manhattan, Alexander is also coincidentally swallowing his own scream of frustration. John _fucking_ Laurens. He loved that man platonically from pluto and back but damn him and his flirting, damn his ability to just see _right_ through him.

**_Straight boys are fruitless endeavors Alex_** , reads John’s single text, and Alexander wants to write three fucking paragraphs about how he and George are _just friends_ and that Alexander has nothing else but platonic feelings for him but he knows, _oh_ he _knows_ in the deepest recesses of his soul, that if anyone could see right through that lie it’s John fucking asshole Laurens.

It’s not like Alexander needs the reminder any feelings he may or may not have will never be reciprocated. He knows every single time he starts to get lost in those baby blue eyes or that smile that he’s so screwed. He can see it now: he’s gonna get caught in the rabbit hole of feelings and spiral until he gets drunk and cries on John’s shoulder and spends weeks moping before finally moving on. And the more time he spends around George the worse the personal fallout will be.

He tosses his phone onto the bed without responding, flops down onto his stomach and groans into the mattress.

\--------------

In Thomas Jefferson’s bedroom, someone actually _is_ screaming.

Not Thomas, of course. It’s the pretty little thing in his bed, the one who had already blown Thomas until he came and now was getting his turn. Thomas is three fingers deep in the other man, his other hand wrapped around the man’s cock, watching his face carefully as he came undone.

“Come on darlin’,” Thomas whispers, leaning close to this man’s ear. It’s pierced with a ruby stud, it looks vibrant against his pale skin. “You’re so close, come on.” He wonders if - Luke? Lucas? Lou? Oh who gives a fuck - Ruby Earing man can actually hear him over his own moans and screams of pleasure. “You look so fucking hot, taking my fingers like this. You can do it.”

Ruby Earring makes so much noise, it sounds so good Thomas almost gets hard again. Almost, of course, being the operative word. He’s not as young as he used to be, and while Ruby Earring gives great blowjobs and vanilla sex is good and all, Thomas knows he can’t get it up twice without something a little _more_.

Thomas rubs right against the right spot and twists his wrist around Ruby Earring’s cock with expertise, and Ruby Earring’s voice cuts off. He shudders, hips bucking as he comes. It’s actually kinda endearing the guy comes silently, for all the noise he made up to this point. Thomas carries him through it, slowing down as Ruby Earrings voice comes back, stopping completely soon after.

There’s a simmering glow in Thomas’ chest, making another person feel good always made _him_ feel good, no matter how vanilla. And Ruby Earring looks like he’s riding cloud nine, coming down from his orgasm with hard, heaving breaths. Thomas makes quick work pulling the condoms off both Ruby Earring’s dick and his fingers and then crawls up the bed to pull the other man close.

The urge to care for this other man sits right beneath Thomas’ skin, and if Ruby Earring says he needs something Thomas will get it for him, but he’s not about to go for full on aftercare after this particular fling. But he holds Ruby Earring until the other man isn’t so blissed out, running soft fingers up and down the man’s chest.

He sits up to watch Ruby Earring climb out of bed and start to pull on his clothes. Thomas isn’t shy about admiring his body, he’s got a cute little ass, that’s the whole reason Thomas picked him up.

“Can I call you?” Ruby Earring says. Thomas purses his lips, sighs through his nose and looks at the other man as earnestly as possible.

“Listen, this was great -”

But Ruby Earring is already waving him off. “Yeah, yeah, one-night-stand, we’re good.”

Thomas smiles, relieved. Ruby Earring slides his shirt back on, comes back to give Thomas one last kiss and then is gone. Thomas listens to him make his way out of Monticello. Despite the house’s size, it’s so old that Thomas can hear his every footstep until he shuts the front door behind him. He figures Ruby Earring didn’t steal anything, he didn’t seem the type.

Thomas leans back against his pillows, hands behind his head. He hadn’t been lying, the sex was _great_ , but Thomas just wasn’t looking for anything more than the string of one-night-stands he’d been having. He’s fine, this is exactly what he wants.

He shuts his eyes and tries to ignore the loneliness seeping into his body. He is _fine_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this the point I warn y'all that this fic is gonna have a Whole Lot More Smut than God Save or anything else I've ever written? Because it is.
> 
> See you Friday.


	7. Armchair Diagnosis Is Bad Alexander. You're Not A Psychologist, Though George Could Probably Use A Therapist ASAP.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George has a bad day. Peter and Alexander are there.

George actually manages to settle into Alexander’s friend group pretty quickly. The next time he goes to _Dorothy’s_ with them they’ve claimed a bigger table so they’re not as squished. Lafayette is charming and funny, his accent is enchanting but familiar. It sounds like Adrienne’s, it gives him something to hold onto until he gets completely comfortable around him and the others.

Hercules is far less intimidating than his size had originally impressed upon George. _He’s_ the tailor friend, and he drinks like a Scotsman. “I’m Irish, actually,” he says when George says something about his tolerance before he downs his eighth glass of whiskey in a night and motions for another. He’s friendly, if a bit unpredictable. When he’s loud he’s eardrum shatteringly loud. When he’s quiet George could almost forget he’s there.

John Laurens is… he’s alright, now that he’s not acting odd and doing things with his lips that makes George want to squirm. Lafayette called it ‘flirting,’ but George considered it torture. The way Laurens throws his arm around Alexander makes George’s stomach knot. Laurens gets cuddlier the more he drinks, and Alexander is often the target of those cuddles.

Once, George gently recommended he not drink so much for his health. Laurens, already smashed, had flipped him off and slurred something like “come and take him from me you coward,” before burying his face in Alexander's shoulder and dozing off.

So maybe Laurens wasn’t his favorite person in the world, but he was kind and outgoing and good with people and Alexander fit right underneath his arm like they were built for each other.

(If George was honest with himself, he’d say Laurens was just about everything he _wished_ he was, but George wasn’t the type to be honest with himself.)

Regardless, when Lafayette invited him out separately from the biweekly _Dorothy’s_ trip, George felt like he was going to burst. He couldn’t even form words to tell Adrienne of his new weekend plans, having to instead simply shove his phone in her face and drum his hands on his legs from sheer excitement.

Time passes. The store does well and George pushes through every social event and interview and business meeting he is forced to take part of. It’s the same day-to-day drudgery, but somehow it’s better now that his weekends aren’t taken up by work so much anymore.

“I don’t know, maybe Americans simply don’t work as much on weekends,” Adrienne says when George asks why his weekend work schedule isn’t as packed as it used to be back home. Well, George won’t question it. He likes his weekends with his friends.

\--------------

George wakes up one Friday without words. It’s the end of a long week and they had been starting to disappear on him the night before but they’re gone this morning. Peter is in the kitchen, finishing preparing George’s usual coffee but all George can manage when he sees him is a soft grunt.

Peter looks over at him, brows furrowed, but George flees to the bathroom. A shower later and he has a few words, but he knows today is going to be a _hard_ day. Thankfully Peter doesn’t speak on the way to work, only rubbing George on the back in slow circles when he can.

George makes plans to lock himself in his office all day, but when he gets a look at his calendar he sees three separate meetings, one of which involving the board of directors and another with the corporate officers, which to some extent might as well be the same people, but _god_ two whole separate meetings. And then there’s a meeting with the American silver supplier -

George takes a breath. He’s got an hour before the first one. Maybe he can spend the time filling out paperwork or sorting in the stockroom -

“Sir?” Adrienne sticks her head into the office. “I’m sorry for bothering you, but there’s a customer demanding to see you.”

George bites his lip to keep from groaning. He has to go, company policy, but he does allow himself a luxurious sixty seconds before following Adrienne down to the shop floor.

———————

_Keep your voice even,_ George instructs himself, repeating it like a mantra in his head _._ He grips his phone tighter. _Keep your voice even._

“Goodbye mother,” he says into the phone. The only response he gets is the click of her hanging up. “I love you,” he says to the empty air, and then lets out a pent up, shaking breath.

He puts his phone on his desk, drops his forehead against it and digs his nails into his thigh. He’d messed up _again_. He’d been too quiet in the corporate meeting, he’d lost his words, he’d stuttered, he’d made Grandpapa ask him if he was alright, he’d embarrassed and disappointed mother.

He bites at the inside of his cheek. _Don’t cry_ , he tells himself. _You’re not allowed to cry. You’re the one who messed up. Bad kids who do bad things aren’t allowed to feel bad for themselves. You’re. Not. Allowed. To. Cry._

“Sir?” Adrienne calls gently. “The work day is over. Did you want to change before you go out with your friends?”

_Oh God it’s a Dorothy’s day,_ George remembers. He looks up, finds Adrienne standing on the other side of the door, not looking at him. One small mercy. George takes a couple deep breaths, but can’t quell the tightness in his chest. He’d been planning on going home, he’d completely forgotten. He’d made his mental plans and he’d forgotten about Alexander and their friends and now he wasn’t going home but he shouldn’t want to go home he -

“Sir?” Adrienne says again. “Would you like me to fetch Peter?”

George forces himself to sit up and manages to find a single word still left in his head. “No.” The back of Adrienne’s head nods, and she pushes the door open a little further.

“Would you like to change?”

“No.”

“Would you like to go home?”

“Yes,” a second word.

“Would you like me to tell Alexander you’re ill?”

“No,” he says. “Have to go.” Five words total, a miracle.

Adrienne nods. “I’ll get Peter to bring the car around.”

———————

**_lets go boiii im in the lobby_ **

Alexander’s text startles George, the little burst of vibration in his pocket feels like it’s going to rattle him out of his skin. The lights of his apartment are so _bright_ , he wants to tear the clothes from his body.

But he has to get it under control. He made a commitment and he can’t back out and Alexander would be disappointed in him if he knew George had lost most of the words that ever existed. He’s a disgrace, he’s a failure, if he just tried a little harder he could _speak_. Everyone loses words sometimes why can’t he find them again?

George calls the elevator with one shaking hand, the ding as the doors slide open makes his head buzz with noise. He has to fight the urge to wiggle his hands, to shake his head, to do anything _bad._

The doors slide open with another earth-shattering _ding_ , the evening sunlight coming in from the windows burn his eyes. Alexander looks up from his phone as George forces himself to step out of the elevator.

“Hey,” he says. “Ready?” But the words are too loud, they don’t make sense in George’s head, he can’t stop himself from wincing. He tries to speak, opens his mouth -

“Mmmmuhhhg-“ he cuts himself off. _Shameful, he knows now, can’t even form a single word. It’s not that hard, stop being difficult._ His thoughts jumble around his head in a chaotic mess, barely formed.

Alexander frowns he slips his phone into his pocket and takes a step towards him. “Georgie, you okay?”

George nods, tries to breath, tries to speak again but all he gets is “I -“ before the sound of his own voice scrambles his brain again. His hands fly up to his ears, trying to block out sounds as Alexander rushes forward.

“George, okay, holy shit,” Alexander breathes. “What’s wrong?” But all George does is whimper, it’s _so loud_. He digs his fingernails into his own head, _stop it stop it be a good boy stop it_ -

Hands are touching him now, strange hands, not Peter’s hands, and George pulls back. It feels like an electric shock. His entire body is curled up right like a spring, energy wanting to go _somewhere_ , he feels like he has to run, has to jump and stomp on the floor until it’s all gone, he wants to scream but his throat is locked up. He can’t even get out his panic word. He can’t look up at Alexander.

“Hey, hey,” Alexander’s voice comes again, soft, low. “Can you breathe? Breathe for me Georgie.” George sucks in a harsh breath, realizes he hasn’t been breathing in the way his lungs scream in relief. “There you go, come on, breathe. Let go of your head, please.”

George pulls his hands away from his ears only for them to start to shake, threatening to start flailing on their own. He shoves his hands under his arms, bends over slightly. Still, they shake, his fingers tapping and digging into his sides.

“Помогите,” George manages to grit out.

“What?” Alexander asks. “What does that mean?”

“Get Peter. Please. Помогите.”

Alexander disappears, running for the front door. He shoves his head outside and a moment later he’s returning with Peter in tow. Alexander is chattering, almost endlessly.

“...And he can’t speak and -“

“Then you must be quiet Mr. Hamilton,” Peter responds, voice low and commanding, and Alexander shuts up. Without a word, Peter puts his hands on George’s shoulders, starts to run them up and down his arms. The contact is still painful, it always is, but Peter presses down on him and the pressure is so _good_.

George forces himself to unfold his arms and he reaches out for Peter. Peter pulls him into his chest and just squeezes. George shuts his eyes, the pressure is so _nice_. It settles the noise in George’s head. Now the ding of the elevator doesn’t hurt so much.

It’s not until halfway through the “fit” routine, when George is wrapped in his blanket and laying on the couch that George realizes Alexander is still there. He’s hovering on the other side of the room, hands awkward at his sides. When George looks at him - not in his eyes just in his direction - he offers a silent wave.

George makes a low sound in the back of his throat, shuts his eyes and buries his face in the blanket. _No, no no no,_ he thinks. _Alexander saw_. _He_ saw. _He saw me have a fit and now he knows how bad and disgusting and embarrassing you are he’s going to leave -_

“Золото моё,” Peter murmurs, pulling George’s attention to him. He holds a glass of water in one hand. “Would you like food?”

George shakes his head, trying to sink into his blanket as far as he can go. _Why doesn’t Alexander just leave? Just get out of here and rip the bandage off._ Alexander had already given him a second chance before. Why would he want to be around George now that he’s embarrassed him and derailed their plans? Why would Alexander want to be friends with such a pathetic, stupid, _awful_ man?

“Hey, hey now,” Alexander says, softly. George blinks, realizing he’s halfway through another word, that he’s spoken aloud. He almost feels betrayed by words, the don’t come when he wants but can just tumble out on their own apparently. He tries to burrow himself further away but he can’t quite manage it. Peter sits down on the couch by George’s feet while Alexander crouches down by George’s head. “Everyone has bad days, it’s okay. If you don’t feel up to doing something, you don’t have to.”

George hums again, trying to collect words. Peter’s hand comes down on his calf, rubs gently, shares a look with Alexander. Alexander takes a breath, and then looks over at George again. “I wouldn’t have been upset if you told me.” George frowns in disbelief, looks over at Alexander. “No, I’m serious. I get it. Anxiety’s a bitch, sometimes it hits you and you just gotta stay in.”

“Anxiety?” George asks, quietly, but Alexander is still talking.

“I really just wish you had told me,” Alexander says. “That way we could have stayed in or canceled.”

“Can’t,” George says. “Can’t cancel plans.”

Alexander lets out a breath. “Of course we can if you’re feeling bad, it’s no big deal. I wouldn’t have been upset. The guys would understand. We could have just put on a movie and drank a little wine instead” There’s a pause and then: “Unless you’d rather be alone in which case -”

Surprising himself, George shoots out a hand from his blankets, grabbing onto Alexander’s arm. “Stay,” he says.

“Are you sure? I know I wanna be alone after a panic attack -”

“Stay,” George insists. “You, me, Peter.”

Alexander nods, glances up at Peter, and then slides onto the couch. The way they’re arranged, George ends up with his head on Alexander’s lap, feet on Peter’s. Alexander looks down at him. “Can I touch you?” He asks, and it’s such an odd question to George. He doesn’t think he’s ever been asked that before.

He nods, and Alexander’s finger start to slowly card through his hair. George can feel it messing up the hardened hairspray but he can’t bring himself to care. It feels so nice, sitting in the still silence, Alexander gently playing with his hair.

“Promise?” George asks suddenly. Alexander doesn’t falter, fingers running across George’s head.

“Promise what?”

“That you wouldn’t have been upset?”

Alexander lets out a breath. “Promise. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“And you’re not mad now?” George feels so small, so open, like Alexander could look down and see his beating heart on his chest.

“Nope, absolutely not,” Alexander says. George’s breath catches in his chest. He finds himself rocking back and forth, trying desperately not to cry. He almost can’t quite believe it, that Alexander’s not _mad_. But it really seems like he’s not. And then Alexander really starts to massage little circles into George’s scalp.

“ _Shhh_ ,” he says. “Shhh, it’s okay. Just relax. You’re okay.”

George presses his face into Alexander’s thigh to hide the couple of tears he can’t stop from slipping out.

\--------------

George falls asleep still wrapped up in his weighted blanket, head on Alexander’s lap. He’s so peaceful asleep, his entire body is calm and relaxed for the first time that Alexander has ever seen. His mouth is hanging open slightly, the tiniest of puppy snores escaping him with each breath.

He’s so adorable Alexander feels like his heart might burst. He keeps carding his fingers through his hair mindlessly, catching himself wishing for this more often. Not the panic attack, but George falling asleep or cuddling up to him -

_Stop it,_ he thinks, _he’s straight, stop it._ But still he doesn’t pull his hand away, doesn’t move to disengage himself from George.

The longer he sits there, the more he notices and feels Peter’s gaze boring into him. He tries to keep his own eyes down, but he can’t stop the pricking feeling on his skin the longer Peter stares. Eventually he just can’t take it anymore and looks up to meet Peter’s hard, cold expression.

“Mr. Hamilton,” Peter says the moment they make eye contact. His thick accent and low voice is like stone, hard and stoic, seemingly impenetrable to interruption.

“Peter,” Alexander says back, trying to match it while knowing he’s failing. He feels small under the gaze of this hulking man. He saw the gentle way in which he handled George, but Alexander is under no impression that Peter couldn’t make him disappear.

“You will not speak of today to anyone,” he says, and it’s not a question. Alexander swallows thickly.

“‘Course not,” he says, wishing he sounded more nonchalant than he does.

“To _anyone_ ,” Peter restates. Alexander nods.

“What about Adrienne?” He asks.

“She is okay,” Peter says. “I will inform her of this fit later.”

“So this happens quite a lot?” Alexander asks, only slightly regretting it as Peter’s eyes narrow, his body shifting forward menacingly. Peter looks at him for a long moment, like he’s searching for something deep inside Alexander’s soul. He’s experienced this once before, with Adrienne, but this one is different. Where he was sure Adrienne could get him fired and blacklisted, Peter looks like he could snap Alexander’s neck with one hand.

“Occasionally,” Peter says eventually. “You cannot stop them, and they must simply run their course. He may hurt attempt to hurt himself, attempting to restrain him may result in harm done to you. He does not mean to do this, he will regret it after but he is not in control.”

Alexander starts, his brain taking mental notes as Peter speaks slowly, carefully, watching him to make sure Alexander understands. “He has panic attacks,” Alexander says.

“Panic attacks?” Peter asks.

“Yeah, like an anxiety thing.”

Peter’s eyes narrow further, turning the phrase over in his head. “If that is what they are called, that is what they are called. He calls them ‘fits.’”

To find out that George doesn’t know what a panic attack or anxiety is, that he’s definitely undiagnosed, isn’t all that surprising to Alexander. “Right,” he says, filing that away. He’ll have to find away to bring it up to George later.

“He may not speak,” Peter continues. “Or he may start talking incessantly. He may not want to be touched, but he likes pressure as he starts to calm down. He needs soft foods and silence.” Alexander nods along. It all sounds familiar, he’s seen (and had one or two) panic attacks before. “Sometimes you can spot one coming and diffuse it before it completely explodes.”

Peter leans forward, over George’s body. “Most importantly, if George ever says the word “Помогите”-” and there’s that strange word again. _Pomete_ , or as Peter pronounces it _‘po-my-gi-te’_ \- “and I’m not around, you must fetch me or otherwise get my attention.”

“It’s a safe word,” Alexander says. Peter nods, then leans back. He goes silent, his hands protectively on George’s wrapped up-sleeping form. Alexander waits, expecting him to speak again, but he doesn’t. They sit in silence together, the only sounds are their breathing and George’s gentle snores.

Alexander fishes out his phone and starts to scroll through twitter, simply waiting. He doesn’t want to leave before George wakes up, not when George might read that as Alexander being upset with him.

Ten minutes later, it occurs to Alexander that he’s gotten the closest thing to Peter’s blessing that he’s going to get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have anything for this chapter besides a reminder that I'm still technically not done with finals so next week's update is still a little up in the air, but it'll probably be fine.
> 
> See you Friday


	8. I Too Hate Jello With Every Ounce of My Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hard opinions and hard choices.

On Tuesday morning rumors started circulating that a major diamond mine in Angola may have ties to a local warlord, and Alexander doesn’t have to be in any of George’s business meetings to know it’s probably been a bad week for him. He’s watched the diamond and jewelry sections of the stock market fluctuate as conflicting news is spread across the globe.

By Friday the rumors are fairly well debunked, but the very fact George hasn’t texted him but a handful of times shows just how overworked he’s probably been. Saturday morning Alex texts to ask how he’s doing and gets a “good!” in reply.

So he texts Adrienne instead, and true to form she tells him George is _exhausted._ Alexander considers his options, knows that George is probably dreading any thought of an outing, but would accept if Alexander asked.

Which means it's the perfect time to implement step one of his plan. George will be tired, worn out and socially drained, but hopefully not so far as to have had a breakdown recently. If Alexander can see the remnants of a panic attack in him, he won’t say anything. But if it’s not that bad, well, Alexander has ideas on how to pitch getting help to George.

**_i’ll be over in twenty to see him,_** he tells Adrienne. To George he sends a: **_you mind if i come over for a bit and hang?_**

**_Everything okay?_** George asks, and bless him. Alexander answers in the affirmative, already halfway out of his own apartment building. On the subway ride over he goes back over the notes he made in his phone, organizing his argument in his head. A little ironic, the feeling of making a sales pitch to someone like George King, but Alexander figures that might be the best way to get through to George. It's what George knows best after all.

When he steps into George’s apartment building, Adrienne is standing there in the lobby. She’s as put together as she always is, even on a Saturday. She greets him with arms folded over her chest and the same cold, stoic look on her face.

“Mr. Hamilton,” she says, before he can speak. “We have something to discuss.”

Alexander blinks, glances back out the door, and then looks back at her. “Everything okay with George?”

“Yes,” she says. “He’s fine. Tired, nervous but excited to see you.” She motions towards the door. “Would you take a walk with me?”

Alexander looks at her, looks past her and sees Peter leaning against the wall by the elevator. That’s all he needs to know that he won’t get up to see George before Adrienne says what she wants to say to him. He clears his throat, nods, and opens the door for her. She nods her thanks, and then waits for him to stand beside her before starting down the sidewalk.

“Why would he be nervous to see me?” Alexander asks, though he has a guess why. Adrienne glances up George’s building, then her eyes are focused dead ahead.

“Because of what happened the last time you saw each other,” she says. “He is… worried, since you saw him in such a _vulnerable_ state.”

“I’ve already told him it was fine. No big deal,” Alexander says. Adrienne nods.

“Which, to you I’m sure, is true.” She leads him across an intersection, barely sparing a glance in either direction as they cross. “To him it is most certainly a ‘big deal.’ He has very rarely allowed himself to express much of himself to others. Most of the time George is… well, I wouldn’t call him stoic, but he puts on a face.”

“I’ve noticed,” Alexander says, and Adrienne looks at him for a hard moment.

“He lets that face slip around you,” Adrienne continues as if Alexander hadn’t spoken. “But even then, you saw a part of him last week that he does not let anyone but Peter see. If he can help it, of course, but even _I_ am rarely privy to those moments. So, he is nervous. But -” Adrienne turns a corner without warning, and Alexander has a moment he has to scramble to fall back in step with her - “that is not what I wanted to discuss with you. It is a bit tangential, but not the purpose of this conversation.”

“Okay,” Alexander says, “So what is it?”

Adrienne lets out a deep breath. They move through the crowd, anonymous and ignored. “I have heard George use the word ‘anxiety’ this past week, and Peter has even mentioned the phrase ‘panic attack’ to me. I assume these words came from you?”

Alexander’s eyes narrow, he looks at Adrienne but her gaze is focused in front of her again. Her face is almost impassive, but the way her jaw is clenched and her tone tells him there’s _something_ brewing in her mind. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m certain George has some form of anxiety disorder, specifically panic disorder but I doubt that’s all.”

Adrienne nods slowly, but just hums. Alexander frowns. “He had a panic attack, you know that right? And from the way Peter talked about it it’s obvious he’s had a lot of them in the past. The way he acts around groups of people and the fidgeting and sometimes he can’t even look people in the eye-”

“Mr. Hamilton,” Adrienne interrupts, “I am aware of all of this. I know George has awful anxiety, and I am sure he is very mentally ill in other ways as well. Peter knows this, though he may not have the language for it. And now you know. George, however, does not know.”

“If you know, why haven’t you told him before?” Alexander asks, voice harsh and biting. “You knew and you let him suffer without help?”

“It is best that George does not know,” Adrienne says, and she says it so simply but forcefully that Alexander actually stops walking for a moment. She keeps going, and Alexander stares at her, wide-eyed in shock for a heartbeat before rushing to catch up to her.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“There are certain circumstances and life situations that George is currently in that make it better for him not to be aware of his mental illness and keep him undiagnosed. I know it sounds counterintuitive -”

“It sounds like dangerous bullshit!” Alexander interrupts. “What on _earth_ could possibly make it _better_ that he doesn’t get help?”

Adrienne’s lips press together, she looks at him and then back at the street. “Certain circumstances -”

“What circumstances? Explain it to me,” Alexander demands. Adrienne takes a deep breath, Alexander can almost see the gears turning in her head.

“I am not at liberty to discuss George’s personal life,” she says, voice cold. “It is not for me to tell you.”

“And yet you feel like you have the authority to decide George is better off without treatment?” Alexander asks.

“More authority than you to decide he is better off with it,” Adrienne says. They turn back onto the street with George’s apartment building, though they are about a block and a half away from it. Alexander opens his mouth to speak again, but Adrienne looks at him with this hard determination in her eyes. “Do not think it is easy for me to sit back and watch him suffer from things in his own head. I, Peter and a few others have been doing our best to alleviate George’s symptoms and issues as best as possible. For the moment it is better he simply lives without knowing. There will come a day, I hope, that will no longer be the case.

“But for now, Mr. Hamilton,” Adrienne continues, “you are not to speak of anxiety or any other mental issue you believe George might be struggling with to him. You are not to discuss George’s mental health with anyone besides Peter or I. The consequences for George would be catastrophic. _If_ I find out you have been talking to George or anyone else about it, and I will, not only will you suddenly find yourself unable to contact or see George, I will make sure you are fired, disgraced and blacklisted from every newsroom and freelancing opportunity you could ever have.”

By now they have reached the front door of George’s apartment building. Adrienne puts her hand on the door handle and looks Alexander directly in the eye. “Do you understand?” She asks.

Alexander takes a breath, scanning her face for any crack in her composure. He turns her words over in his head, considering his options. He still wants to help George, but if he follows Adrienne’s orders he won’t be able to discuss things openly with him. It will make things much more difficult, but Alexander knows he’s smart and more than a bit crafty.

“I understand,” Alexander says. Adrienne’s expression does not soften, but she peers into him, looking for any hint he is lying. She must find none, as she nods and opens the door for him.

“Thank you for speaking to me,” she says, as if he had a choice.

“You’re welcome,” Alexander responds. Adrienne nods in Peter’s direction, and when Alexander moves towards the elevator he does not move to stop him.

Alexander is making plans before the elevator door shuts. Step one of his plan, convincing George to get help, obviously isn’t going to fly. The rest of the plan, however, might still work with a bit of tweaking. Carefully help George create some decent coping mechanisms, getting him out to meet more people on a purely social basis, and getting him to open up a bit more and relax around Alexander, all without letting George know of course. Baby steps that would happen with therapy, just without the therapy.

Alexander knows he’s no therapist, and without actual direct therapy work or medication there’s only so much Alexander might be able to help, but any help is help.

And then the thought strikes him: Adrienne said the reason George couldn’t know was because of ‘certain circumstances’ he’s in. _The best way to get George help would be to get him out of those circumstances_ , Alexander thinks. Once whatever ‘circumstances’ are resolved, George would be free to get actual professional help.

The elevator doors slide open just as Alexander is starting to form the second track of his ‘help George’ plan. He needs to find out whatever Adrienne didn’t want to tell him. _I can’t ask directly,_ Alexander realizes. _It might spook George and make Adrienne upset_.

Well, he’s an investigative journalist, isn’t he? He doesn’t want to go poking around behind George’s back, but if that’s what's necessary to help him that’s what’s necessary. The ends justify the means, and all Alexander wants is for George to be happy and healthy. _Certainly,_ that’s all he wants.

\--------------

When Alexander said he was coming over, George let out a deep breath, forced himself off the couch and back into his bedroom. He changed out of the really nice, soft sweatpants he loved and the old college tee into something nicer. Still on the casual side, he couldn’t force himself into anything too stiff, but it was still a pair of khakis and a button up for him. It wasn’t even one of the soft shirts, it was a bit scratchy and made his skin a bit uncomfortable but its all that was clean on a Saturday.

Carefully ate the rest of his late breakfast over the sink so as not to drop anything on himself. Yogurt was a bit of a bloody mess to get out but it was really all he wanted to eat right now. Even grapes and bananas were too… _solid_ for him at the moment. Yogurt and pudding were good, but not jello, it was too wiggly. It felt bad in his mouth.

Alexander takes a little longer than twenty minutes, which just makes George’s stomach twist a little. He probably got caught in traffic or something, and it gives George time to shove a little more food down his throat. If Alexander want to go get food, George doesn’t want to be in a position where he’s hungry but looking at things that will just strengthen the low storm in the back of his head.

When Alexander finally knocks on the door, George quickly puts his remaining yogurt away and takes a deep breath. He runs a hand through his hair to pat it into a decent position, straightens his shoulders and fixes a smile on his face.

“Alexander!” He says when he opens the door, forcing the joyous tone into his voice. Alexander is just in jeans and a tee, and a twinge of jealousy fills George. The privilege of not having to put on appearances in the off time. “Come in, come in. It’s good to see you.”

Alexander smiles up at him, says hello and walks into George’s apartment. The last time Alexander was here flashes through George’s head, feelings of shame flooding through him. But he also remembers _I wouldn’t have been upset_ and fingers through his hair. He doesn’t really know what to say as Alexander makes his way through to the living room.

“What brings you around?” George asks instead, his fingers dancing on his thigh. He tries to stop them, only gets them to still for a moment before the overwhelming urge to _move_ starts them back up again. Alexander shrugs as he plops down on the couch. He looks around the room absentmindedly and George hopes he likes the decoration.

“Wanted to see you I guess,” Alexander says. “We didn’t really get to hang out last week and I wanted to make sure you were good.”

George’s heart stops, he forces his smile a bit wider as he comes to stand by the television so he can look at Alexander. People like it when you look at them when you’re talking to them. “Well, I’m perfectly fine. Last week the stress just got to me, doesn’t happen very often but I’m good now.” Alexander looks at him, one eyebrow cocked, like he doesn’t quite believe him. George’s heart sinks. _He knows how weak you are now. Cover it up, fix it, be good_. “Did you want to go out to lunch?”

Alexander’s head tilts slightly, looking him over and George can’t tell what he sees. He smiles wider, goes over what he just said. He’d sounded normal, didn’t he? The right amount of inflection, a normal offer to just get Alexander distracted.

“Do _you_ want to go to lunch?” Alexander asks. _No,_ screams a voice in George’s mind, but he offered and it’s the proper thing to do and it would prove he’s okay if they go out - “Tell me honestly Georgie.”

George’s heart skips a beat. He looks down at Alexander, trying desperately to see what answer he wants. He should say yes, Mum would want him to say yes, most people would want him to say yes. But there’s something - maybe it’s the _Georgie_ again, god that shouldn’t throw him off his game as much as it does - _different_ about Alexander. Something that makes hope rise in his chest.

“I had a late breakfast, so it’s completely up to you,” George says. _Good_ , _deflect, maybe he’ll let us take the out. Better than directly saying no._ Alexander bites his bottom lip, staring George down. _Please say no, please say no,_ George thinks, keeping up his exterior calm.

“I’d rather just chill here,” Alexander says eventually, and George feels a wave of relief course through him. He almost _thanks_ Alexander aloud, but instead he just nods.

“No problem,” he says. Silence descends for a moment, George is suddenly unsure of what to do. Alexander is just sitting on his couch, seemingly with no ulterior motive than to just sit on his couch and be with George. He has to have some greater purpose, he must want _something_ from George.

But then again, it’s _Alexander_. Alexander has broken every pattern and expectation George had before, so maybe… maybe he doesn’t want anything? Maybe he really just wants to hang out.

Which brings George back to his original problem: he doesn’t know what to do or say now. He doesn’t think this has ever happened to him before. But now they’re sitting in silence and Alexander is looking around at the room again and George has just been standing there like an _idiot_.

He pulls out his phone with a “sorry, give me one second, major client,” and instantly googles “what do people do with their friends.” A little bit pathetic, perhaps, but it’s all George can think to do. It’s not a whole lot of help, it seems people just… talk? Watch tv together? Drink maybe? Does he offer a drink this early in the day? Does Alexander even like wine?

By the time George looks up, ready to offer to turn on the television - _television, seriously? People just sit around and watch telly together?_ \- Alexander is up off the couch and examining George’s bookcase. Alexander glances over. “Nice collection,” he says.

George lets out a breath. His books, that’s something he’s used to discussing. He walks over to stand beside Alexander. “Thank you,” he says. Alexander runs his fingers across the spine of _How to Make Friends and Influence People_ , a book George had always intended to read but never had. If he’s honest, he hadn’t read most of what was on his shelf. He does stiffen as Alexander touches it though, he likes them to be neat and orderly. Thankfully, Alexander doesn’t pull it out, instead he just looks across the rest of the shelves.

Then Alexander looks up to the very top, smiles a little bit and points to the model ship resting on the top of the bookcase. “That’s really nice,” he says. “Did you make that?”

George glances at up at it. The small, thirteen by six inch model of _The King’s Escape_ stands upright, a little dusty but the white and blue colors were still vibrant beneath. He lets his eyes move along the sleek lines of the boat for a moment before he looks back down at Alexander with a slight smile.

“I suppose, yes. As much as a four year old can build that sort of thing. My dad did most of the work,” he says. Alexander lets out a little ‘aw.’ George looks back up, feels his heart warm as he recalls the few scraps of memories he has of his father, carefully piecing together the ship, smiling at him as he handed over the tiny tools and parts.

“Pretty modern looking,” Alexander observes. “Aren’t model boats usually those complicated old ships with like five masts?”

George nods, having to bite down the flood of information that comes right to the tip of his tongue. _No one’s interested in that George,_ he reminds himself. “ _The King’s Escape_ was our family boat,” George explains. “It was my father’s most prized possession, he built the model during one winter when we couldn’t go sailing.”

For a moment, George is caught in the fragments he has of sitting on the bow of that little boat, the sea spray kicking up into his face, urging his father to go faster and hearing his father’s gentle laughter as he obliged.

“Sweet of him to give you that while you’re overseas,” Alexander says, pulling George out of his memory. George’s smile tightens, turns just the littlest bit sad.

“Well, it was just about the only thing I directly got from his will,” he says. Alexander inhales sharply, and George is instantly scared he shared too much. He can’t look over at Alexander, even as Alexander’s hand comes to rest on his shoulder.

“Sorry, I - I didn’t know,” Alexander says. George’s fingers start tapping against his leg again.

“It’s alright,” he says, forcing his voice to be light. “It was a long while ago. I was six, and so most of my inheritance went into trust funds and investments for me to get when I came of age. The model I got to keep.”

Alexander is silent for a moment, George is about to break away when he does eventually ask: “How did he die, if I can ask.”

“Car accident. He lost control and wrapped his car around a tree.” George looks over a him and smiles. “Really, Alexander, it’s alright. It was over twenty years ago now.”

“Still,” Alexander says. “That really sucks.”

George shrugs, gently pushing Alexander’s hand off his shoulder. “I suppose, but it’s alright. Would you like to watch a movie or something?”

“Sure,” Alexander says, and George moves away to go set up the telly. He thinks the subject is dropped until: “So, it’s just you and your mom then?”

George glances over where Alexander is sliding back onto the couch. “Well, I had my grandparents of course, but yes. My mum raised me on her own. Did a good job, I think.” George laughs a little. “I love her to pieces and if I’m honest, she’s the person I’m the closest to in the whole world.”

“That’s nice,” Alexander says. George nods.

“You ought to meet her. You’re both incredibly smart, I’d bet you’d get along like a house on fire.” George turns, smiling, and tosses Alexander the remote. “I’ve got Netflix, what do you want to watch?”

By the time Alexander makes his selection, George is settled into the couch beside him, debating on offering wine. As the opening credits roll, Alexander says: “I’ve heard this is good, never seen it though.” George hasn’t either, but already he’s not really paying attention to it. He’s not really sure what he should do with his body, if he should speak or not, and ends up sitting stiffly on the opposite side of the couch,

But Alexander seems much more comfortable. Even as the opening credits roll he’s poking fun at some of the people’s names and is lounged back, relaxed. “Richard Balls?” Alexander says, pointing to one of the names on the screen. “Seriously? What were his parents thinking? Dick Balls, _come on_.”

George lets out a little laugh, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. He looks over at Alexander, and suddenly remembers how it felt to have Alexander massaging his scalp, how gentle he was and comfortable it was to just lay on his lap like that. A blush creeps onto George’s face as fights the urge to scoot over and lean into Alexander’s side. Alexander’s arm is thrown over the back of the couch and George figures he could slot right in there if he wanted -

_No,_ George scolds himself. _Stay where you are. Be good. Ignore It._

But Alexander seems so warm and inviting and he says something that makes George laugh and George feels more comfortable now than he ever has around anyone else. Alexander pokes holes in the story and George starts to talk back and suddenly everything feels okay. Maybe he could get used to this.

One movie turns into two, turns into three, turns into “Georgie, do you have anything to drink?” turns into wine and _The Great British Bake Off_ and they’ve somehow managed to scoot closer to one another on the couch until they’re almost touching.

And then Alexander gently leans his head onto George’s shoulder and George fights the burning blush that rises to his face. But it’s nice. He likes it. He wants to put his arm around Alexander’s shoulders and pull him closer. But he doesn’t. This is simultaneously good and the most he’ll ever get.

And for the first time, George actually lets himself enjoy it.

\--------------

George falls asleep on the couch again, the wine having knocked him out. Alexander has no idea how he can sleep in such uncomfortable clothing, but he had been starting to get a little tipsy and he’s still so goddamn cute asleep. Alexander doesn’t want to risk waking him up yet, though it should happen at some point so George doesn’t spend the night sleeping sitting up, so he just stays where he’s at and fishes his phone out of his pocket.

It feels dirty doing research on George’s parents while George is literally asleep next to him, but he has to know more if he wants to find a way to help George. The first thing he really does find is news about his father’s death - apparently it had made waves in British society. Frederick King, heir to the King empire, dead in a car accident at only thirty-two, leaving wife Agatha and son George behind.

There’s a photo from the funeral, a six year old George clinging to his mom, crying into her neck as she carries him up to the closed coffin. Agatha King is facing the camera, but she’s wearing this elegant black dress and veil that obscures her actual face. The photo shows up in just about every article on it, including the later news that investigators ruled Fredrick’s death simply a tragic accident.

So he turns his attention to Agatha herself. Seems to be she’s mostly a socialite, occasionally she’s quoted as a spokesperson for King’s and an advisor to George’s grandfather, a man also named George. Good reputation, beloved by British elite. Although there’s no official statement, it seems like most assume she’s not actually in line to inherit the company, and instead it’s expected to go directly to George. He finds records of charity work, of celebrity appearances on British talk shows.

The one thing that gives him pause is a statement from 2013, about the legalization of gay marriage in the UK. _We at King’s are displeased with the recent legislative acts, as we disapprove of such unnatural couplings. If any homosexual person wishes to purchase and luxury jewelry, we request they go elsewhere._ It makes him frown, it’s quoted directly to Agatha. He glances over at George, thinking.

From what he knows, he doesn’t think such thinking was passed down to George from his mother, and Alexander supposes that’s all that really matters. It sucks, sure, but its not particularly surprising or anything.

_I love her to pieces_ , George had said. And from what Alexander sees in a cursory bit of research, it seems like she was an actual caring mom. So he files all that information away and turns his attention to George’s grandparents. He’ll get to the bottom of this one way or the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back with an early update because I'm getting my wisdom teeth removed early tomorrow and I wouldn't have gotten this up otherwise.
> 
> Thank you so much for the understanding and words of encouragement last week! Everyone was so nice about the missed update and I couldn't have asked for any better readership.
> 
> See you Friday!


	9. Emotionally Challenged Men Feel Jealous Over Each Other; More At Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's funny because it's about 11 when I'm posting this my time.

Alexander starts to pick up on clues, little hints that lets him into how George is feeling any given day. How fidgety he is, how often and easily he makes eye contact, how much (if anything) he eats. There are vocal patterns too, like certain patterns of words, tone and inflections that George falls back on when the anxiety starts to act up.

It’s one of these little patterns, the tight sounding “I suppose” response he uses to stall that raises Alexander’s metaphorical antennae one night at _Dorothy’s_. The conversation had turned to some recent homophobic comment from some celebrity, and when Alexander looks over he spots George’s first two fingers tapping the side of his whisky glass at light speed.

Alexander thinks quickly, eyes the way George’s smile is turning tighter by the second. John is ranting about the commodification of gay rights, Lafayette and Hercules both listening intently but it’s nothing they haven’t heard before. George looks like he’s about to choke on air.

“The only thing worse than corporations making empty gestures are those who are outwardly hostile to us,” John says, and _We at King’s disapprove of such unnatural couplings_ flashes through Alexander’s mind. Gently, he leans forward and taps the back of George’s hand to get his attention.

“Hey, it’s kinda stuffy in here,” Alexander says. “Wanna step out for a moment?”

George’s eyes snap to Alexander in a second, something like fear flickering in his eyes for just a second before it’s placed behind a placating mask. “Yes,” he says, quickly pulling his hand away from the glass and standing. The motion attracts attention from the rest of the table, and Alexander gives them the same excuse. John nods, one eyebrow cocked in Alexander’s direction as his gaze flicks between him and George. Lafayette frowns in concern, but they make it out without any of the boys trying to stop them.

The moment they’re on the sidewalk George turns to him, eyes downcast and starts to speak before Alexander gets a chance to do anything. “I apologize for making you step out for a moment and embarrassing you in front of your friends and -”

Alexander grabs his shaking hands. “Georgie,” he interrupts, “take a breath.” George looks up at him in shock, a pink tint to his cheeks. “It’s okay, I’ve told you, you need to take care of yourself.”

“But those are your friends and I -”

“They are your friends too and they would understand.” Alexander squeezes his hands tighter. “I need you to breathe for me, okay? Just take a full, deep breath.” George looks at him bewilderingly but follows his instructions, quickly sucking in a deep breath. “Slower, let it out slow,” Alexander says, and George does as he’s told. “There you go, again.”

“I don’t -”

“Just breathe for a minute, okay? It’s all alright,” Alexander says, reassuringly. George looks at him like Alexander’s grown another head, but his breathing is starting to even out again and he’s starting to look less flushed. “You’re doing good, just keep breathing.”

At some point George’s shoulders start to relax again, he can look Alexander in eye again. Alexander offers him a smile. “Feeling better?” He asks. George nods.

“Thank you,” he says, softly, like he’s scared to say it.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” Alexander asks. George glances back at the door.

“No, I would like to stay.”

“Are you sure?” Alexander asks. George nods, takes one last breath and reaches for the door. They walk back inside, and it’s not until John gives Alexander smirk that Alexander realizes he’s still holding one of George’s hands. George must see it too because he glances down at their conjoined hands, goes beet red in the face and yanks his hand away like he’s been burned.

Alexander ignores the twinge of disappointment in his heart as George slides back into his seat. The topic has changed now, and the rest of the night George is fine, even if he tends to go a little pink whenever he looked at Alexander.

\--------------

Outside research into George’s family is proving less than fruitful. The King family likes their privacy it seems, and outside planned public appearances they don’t make waves. Agatha and George Sr. are the most visible, obviously. The CEO and the Socialite-slash-spokesperson daughter-in-law are going to be the most public figures of the family.

George Sr. seems respectable, if a bit stuffy and proper, though Alexander would be surprised if a British economic powerhouse was anything but. His wife isn’t a public figure at _all_. Alexander can’t find much but a few mentions of Caroline King at her son’s funeral.

Having exhausted the public record of the King family itself, Alexander doesn’t really have any other avenue into them. Adrienne would certainly find out if he started poking his nose into the family, and if he starts aggravating the family he simply won’t get anywhere.

So he closes the book on the King family for the moment, and turns his attention onto the company.

\-------------

On nights Alexander finds that George is not in any shape to go out he insists on movie night. Now that he knows what he’s looking for, he can find the relief in George’s expression, voice or even text message. In every “If that’s what you want to do, then,” Alexander hears a ‘thank you.’ He thinks George is starting to accept that it’s okay to not go out or fulfill demanding plans, if the way George greets him at the door with wine glasses and Netflix already up is any indication.

He spends good evenings alone with George, the other man slowly starting to relax more and more around him. If the way George becomes more accepting of Alexander’s habit of cuddling is anything to go by at least.

“Lafayette and I got coffee on Tuesday,” George mentions one night as he’s pouring the wine. Alexander cocks an eyebrow.

“Oh, how was that?” He asks. He’s surprised Lafayette didn’t tell him, but then again Lafayette likes to keep little secrets.

(The thought Lafayette might have tried to invite George on a date or something makes his stomach flip when it enters his mind. George is too straight and too oblivious to notice anyone, even Lafayette, trying to turn on the charm. _No,_ he reassures himself, _it was platonic._ )

“Excellent!” George says, putting the wine glasses down onto the couch. “He’s very charming and wonderful to talk to.”

“Yeah he’s a great guy,” Alexander says, already reaching for his glass. George smirks at him as he sits down next to him.

“He told me some very interesting stories about you and Laurens in college,” George says. Alexander raises his eyebrow at the same time he raises his glass to his lips.

“Oh, like what?” Alexander asks.

“Like the time you two got drunk and performed karaoke in dresses and heels and you fell off the stage.”

Alexander just about spits his wine out of his glass, but manages to catch it and swallow it down. “Damn fucking traitor we all agreed not to speak about that,” he says, voice harsh. George’s eyes go wide as planets.

“So it’s true?” George asks. “That really happened?!” Alexander lets out a sigh and nods. George puts a hand up to his mouth to mask the surprised but delighted smile. “Don’t tell you also got caught snogging in the janitor’s closet too.”

Alexander lets out a short laugh. “ _Snogging?_ ” He says. “Yeah I suppose, since that’s what you Brits call it.” George smiles, opens his mouth and then hesitates. “What is it Georgie?” Alexander asks.

“Um, well,” George starts, shifting slightly in place, “I suppose I wanted to ask… well, what’s - what’s it like to, you know, be with a man?” He asks, voice rising steadily until it’s almost a squeak at the end. Alexander blinks, holding his wine glass to his chest.

He _knows_ George is just curious, that he’s just a socially awkward straight guy trying to fit in with his gay friends and know more about it. But Agatha King’s homophobic statement dances in front of his eyes and he has to let out a deep breath.

“It’s nice,” Alexander says. “No better or worse than being with a woman, at least in my experience. If you like him you like him you know?” He watches George’s face carefully, sees the curious expression in flashes as he tries to stay neutral. “It’s different than girls, certainly. Men tend to be a little more blunt? But not as emotionally available.” He eyes George for a moment, then: “Here, tell me about a girl you’ve dated in the past.”

George blinks, his face turning pink and eyes wide. “A… girl? Someone I - I’ve dated? Um, w-why?” He asks, gaze no longer able to meet Alexander’s.

“So I can use her for comparison I guess,” he says, “might be easier to explain that way.” George just goes even redder.

“I, um, well, I would, but… I have - I’ve never had a girlfriend before,” he says, embarrassed and squeaky. Alexander’s eyebrows shoot up.

“No, I don’t believe that,” Alexander says. “Cute, wealthy man like you? Certainly you’ve had _some_ experience with women.” George’s face grows impossibly brighter.

“I was always busy,” he says, fingers tapping his glass.

“Even in school?”

George nods. “There was a lot of homework and I never joined any clubs really. The only girl, well, the only _person_ I really met in secondary was Adrienne.”

Alexander blinks in shock. “You and Adrienne were friends from school?” He asks. George nods.

“She was in the year below, we shared a lot of classes,” he says. “I thought about maybe trying to court her, but her family didn’t have the same status as mine, so we were just friends. And then she needed a job and I needed a PA and it just worked out.”

Alexander leans forward, putting his glass down on the table. “Wait, back up a minute there, are you saying you had a _crush_ on Adrienne?”

George’s blush, which had calmed down slightly, returns in full force. He leans back into the his arm of the couch, shoulders drawn in. “No!” He says, seemingly a bit too forcefully.

Alexander breaks out into a shit-eating-grin. “Holy shit you did!”

“I most certainly did not!” George insists, his voice like a little mouse. Alexander grabs the pillow behind him and throws it at George.

“You _did_ , you did.” He ignores the jealous pang in his gut. “Did you ever tell her?”

“No, because there was nothing to tell her,” he says. He reaches out for the remote and picks a movie from their cue together. “Let’s watch the movie now.”

Alexander laughs as George focuses his gaze directly at the television. He leans across the couch and into George’s side. “I’m just teasing you Georgie, don’t mean anything by it,” he says. George just hums as the opening credits roll. Alexander picks up both their glasses, hands one to George and settles into his usual place curled up against George.

\--------------

The moment Alexander leaves George’s apartment, George deflates. There’s no use in going to the window to watch him walk away, he couldn’t see from so far up, but he wants to. He wants to hold onto every bit of Alexander he can.

Instead he cleans up the wine glasses, turns off the telly and the lights, changes into pajamas and flops down onto his bed, like he always does, feeling too small for it. There’s a contentedness underneath his skin, he always does feel _nice_ on the days Alexander comes over. But part of today’s conversation won’t leave him.

He shouldn’t have brought up Laurens, shouldn’t have mentioned his and Alexander’s old relationship at all. It makes him feel all… weird on the inside. He’s not angry, but it’s not a good feeling either. It makes him jittery and upset to think about Alexander kissing John Laurens, even if it _was_ years ago, even if he knows they’re not together, even if he knows that he’ll never get to know what that’s like; to have a man to have and hold and kiss and _like_.

He presses his pillow to his face, wanting to block out all this hard, confusing feelings inside of him. He can almost still feel the warmth of Alexander against his side and he never wants that to go away. He wants Alexander to still be here, maybe that would fill his bed, maybe Alexander’s warmth and presence could help him sleep.

He lets out a groan. _Push It down, push It down,_ he tells himself, _you’ve done it before. You’ll never have a boy, let alone Alexander. Push It down._

Maybe he really should have married some girl by now, make it all easier. Take even the illusion of a choice away. Maybe Adrienne’s made enough of a name for herself that he could convince his family she is a good match now.

But then thinking about having Adri in his bed, to kiss her and have kids with her and all that entails makes his insides turn to concrete. She’s his friend, and she’s a _girl_. He frowns into the pillow.

 _You’ll have a wife one day and it will all be better then,_ Nana says in his head. _It will all be okay by then._

\--------------

Step one of Alexander’s plan is going swimmingly, and although the research is hard to do under the radar (he’s started to poke around the background of one John Stuart Bute, the _King’s_ COO, but the more he learned the more he slowly began to hate the man) he’s getting that half of it moving.

So on to step two: getting George a bigger support system, social circle and helping him to deal with groups of people.

The _Dorothy’s_ gang is good: George has obviously taken to Lafayette extremely well. He seems to get along with Herc and John as well, but it’s obvious he’s not as comfortable around them as he is Lafayette or Alexander himself. George is certainly getting better with the other two men, but it’s slow going.

While Alexander waits to see how those relationships progress, he puts quite a lot of thought into who he’s going to introduce George to next. For a moment he thinks Burr might be a decent choice, as Burr can be quite easy to talk to if you only want to engage in small talk. But then he realizes that’s the exact opposite of what George needs right now, empty small talk where he can just put his mask on and navigate that way.

So he ends up putting a small list together and organizing a little get together. He waits until he has the final guest list and Adrienne gives the okay on the planned date before he dares approach George with the idea.

“So I’m holding a little get together,” Alexander says one night on the trip home from _Dorothy’s,_ intentionally avoiding the word ‘party.’ George looks at him one eyebrow raised. “Two weeks from now, just a couple of my friends at my place. Some drinks, whatever, not much. Would you like to come?”

He watches George’s face carefully while attempting to look nonchalant about it. George’s fingers tap against the subway pole. “Who all would be coming?” He asks.

“Uh, John, Laf and Herc,” Alexander says, ticking names off his fingers. “A few others.”

“Anyone I’d know?” George asks, and Alexander can hear the real question: _Am I going to have to be a businessman there?_ Alexander shakes his head, then hesitates.

“You _might_ know the Schuylers,” he says. “Philip Schuyler is a New York senator, but I’d just be inviting his daughters and their significant others.” George looks off, thinking, then shakes his head.

“I think I’ve heard the name on the news, but I’ve never met him,” he says. Alexander nods, relief flooding him.

“Angelica, Eliza and Peggy are good people,” he says. “So it would be them, Angie’s fiance and his sister and Eliza’s girlfriend.”

George nods, thinks for a moment. “At your place?” He says.

“Yep,” Alexander says. “What do you say, you in?”

George glances at him, looks away, fingers dancing. “What day?”

“Two weeks from tonight.”

“I’d have to check my calendar,” he says, and Alexander can tell he’s looking for an out. With any other event, Alexander would let him have it. But just as it’s important for George to learn how to take care of himself and say no, he also needs to learn how to go out and have fun around other people.

“Hey,” Alexander says softly, reaching out to place his hand gently on George’s arm. “They’re all, good fun people. No one would be expecting anything from you. It would be like a _Dorothy’s_ trip but just with a couple more folks.” George still looks unsure. Alexander squeezes his arm gently. “Hey, have I led you astray on this kind of thing before?”

“No…” George trailed.

“Do you trust me?” Alexander asks. George looks up at him, looking him in the eye again. Slowly, he starts to nod.

“Yes, I do,” George says. Alexander squeezes his arm again.

“Then come down, meet some more of my friends,” Alexander says. “You’re my friend and I want you to meet everyone else.”

George looks at him for a long moment, internal debate obvious to Alexander, though perhaps not to anyone else on the train.

“Okay,” George says. “I’ll come.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! My wisdom teeth removal went well and I spent most of my down time writing, so things are good! I know this one's shorter than usual but I'm happy with it.
> 
> See you Friday!


	10. I'm A Firm Believer That Everyone Should Learn How To Gamble So George Needs To Get On That Shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A party, a girl and a confession

Alexander’s apartment building is much smaller than George’s, only a few stories tall and located in a less affluent part of New York. George adjusts the wine bottles under his arm, looking back over at Peter on more time. Peter motions him forward, mustache twitching upward with the slip of a smile he has.

George takes a steadying breath. _I can do this_ , he thinks. He knows how to handle himself at parties. Fix a smile on his face, make little small talk over hors d'oeuvres and wine until it’s acceptable to go home.

He makes his way into the building and soon finds there’s no elevator. He starts the multi-floor climb to Alexander’s apartment, trying to calm the fluttering in his chest. It’s only going to be Alexander’s friends. Alexander was so excited about this night, and George wanted it to turn out okay for him. He could steady his nerves for the sake of his friend, couldn’t he?

He takes a moment outside Alexander’s door - wooden, with a shining _52_ on it - to take one last breath. He straightens, then slouches slightly, then decides against it and goes ramrod straight. He wants to impress Alexander’s friends, so he puffs his chest out, smiles wide and knocks.

Alexander opens the door, dressed in something far more casual than George would have ever considered wearing in front of other people. “George! There you are,” he says, motioning George inside.

“I brought wine,” George says, offering the bottles to Alexander. They’re not the nicest bottles he’s ever owned, but they’re certainly on the higher end. Alexander looks down at them, blinks in shock and then places them on the counter.

“Thanks,” he says, then turns to the living room where there are people gathered around a coffee table. “Boys, George’s here!”

Laurens, Hercules and Lafayette all look up from what looks like a card game, and the first two call hellos and raise bottles of beer to him. Lafayette stands up completely with a bright smile and comes over.

“George!” Lafayette says, clapping his hands on George’s shoulders. “Alexander said you were coming, I’m so glad to see you.” He greets him with a kiss on each cheek, to which George reciprocates. “Did you bring this wine?” He asks, looking over to the counter. George nods and he picks one up to examine the label.

“Excellent, _excellent_ bottle,” Lafayette says. “Not as good as if it were, say, a Lafayette family wine, but excellent nonetheless.” Lafayette laughs and George returns it. Maybe if he just sticks around Lafayette and Alexander for most of the night, he’ll get through this just fine -

“Hey, you should meet the others,” Alexander says, grabbing George by the wrist and pulling him into the living room. The _Dorothy’s_ boys are there, along with five other woman and another man. “Alright, George, this is Angelica Schuyler,” Alexander points to a woman playing cards with the boys, then to the man beside her “her fiance John Church.” A pale man waves at him, and then returns to his cards.

“Eliza Schuyler and Maria Reynolds -” a pretty woman in a light blue dress waves hello around the girl sitting in her lap, who also waves - “Peggy Schuyler -”

“Hello!” A young woman says, a red plastic cup in her hand.

“And that’s Jane Church,” Alexander finishes, pointing at the last woman currently leaning against the wall by the telly. “Everyone, George King.”

George smiles and waves his hello and Angelica and Church both look up. “Ooh, this is the George we’ve heard so much about,” she says. George’s heart skips a beat as Alexander rolls his eyes. Church sits back, eyeing him up.

“George King, like Agatha King’s son?” He asks. George blinks, looking down at him, trying desperately to recall if he’s ever met him before. Coming up blank, he simply nods.

“Why yes. Do you know her?” He asks. Church shakes his head.

“No, but my aunt is good friends with her. Katelyn Baker?”

Recollection of one of the various ladies that Mum likes to go to dinner with strikes him. “Oh! Yes! Mrs. Baker, yes, I’ve met her. She’s your aunt?” When Church nods, George leans forward with a smile. “Tell her I said hello, would you?”

“Of course,” Church says.

“Alexander!” John shouts, “It’s your play!”

“Coming!” Alexander calls back, coming in from the kitchen. He grabs two cards that had been lying on the table, glances at them, and then at the three card spread on the table. “Is there a bet?”

“Nope,” Hercules says.

“Cool.” Alexander puts his cards back on the table. “Check.” With that, he turns to George. “Do you want a drink? Wine?”

“Sure,” George says, and then Alexander is back into his little kitchen. There’s a lot of people for such a small space, and George can only see maybe two doors leading away from the center space. Alexander’s apartment is _small_ , even just for him.

“Would you like to be dealt in next hand?” Church asks as Hercules tosses a couple of brightly colored plastic chips into the center of the table. “Ten dollar buy in.”

“What’s the game?” George asks, as if he knows anything about gambling.

“Texas Hold’em,” Church responds. George fakes consideration, then shakes his head.

“Not really my game,” he says.

“Oh come on!” Lafayette nudges him with his shoulder. “It’s just a friendly game.”

George eyes the stack of tens on the corner of the table. _Once money is involved, it’s not a game,_ Papa once told him, and it’s with that in mind that George steps back from the table.

“I’ll pass, thank you,” he says. Hercules, Laurens and Lafayette all make noises of disappointment.

“Whatever, less competition,” Laurens says. Next to him, Eliza and Maria examine a pair of cards together before tossing them face-down onto the table.

“Fold,” Maria calls just as Alexander reappears with George’s wine in hand. Once it’s passed off to George, Alexander drops down into a cross-legged position on the floor and picks his cards back up.

George takes a sip of wine - it’s one of the bottles he brought, really fruity and sweet - as he takes another step back from the table.

“Don’t worry,” a voice next to him says. “I’m not playing either.” George turns his head to find Jane Church standing there with a red cup like Peggy’s in hand. “Not really the gambling type?”

“No, not really,” he responds. “I think I’ve played roulette… once?” He takes another sip and looks out over the game. Voices raise as Angelica tosses down her cards, face up this time, and scoops the pot of chips into her already sizable pile. “Well, my father let me spin the thing once when I was very little. Don’t know if that counts as _playing_.”

Jane chuckles. “I’m hopeless at cards. The most I’ll play is slots, but this isn’t a casino.” She glances over at him, eyeing him up and down. “So, how do you know Alexander?”

“Oh, we met when I gave him an interview once, and we just hit it off I suppose,” he says. Jane cocks an eyebrow.

“ _King’s_ jewelers, right?” She asks, and George nods. “That makes sense. Alexander must meet a lot of interesting people on the job.” George doesn’t really know how to respond to that, so instead he says:

“So, remind me. Your brother is marrying…?” He trails.

“Angie,” Jane points to Angelica Schuyler. “You know, they’re moving to England after the wedding. Johnny’s gonna work for Scotland Yard.”

“Oh, is he?” George asks.

“Yeah, he’s a really smart detective,” Jane says, then she looks back up at him. “Angie’s the one who introduced us to Alexander.”

“So you’re good friends with him?” George asks, trying to go back in his head and remember if Alexander ever said anything about the Schuylers or the Churches before. Jane takes a sip of her drink and shakes her head.

“No, Angie and Johnny are closer to him. I just didn’t really have anything to do tonight. Just got out of a relationship and they told me to get out of the house so -” she motions around herself -  “here I am.”

“Sorry to hear that,” George says. A cheer from Alexander draws his attention, George watches him pull a small stack of chips towards him as Laurens grumbles something and takes a long swing of his beer.

“He was kind of a dick anyway,” she says. “You seeing anybody?”

“Hm?” George looks back over at her. “No, not currently.” Her smile gets wider, she leans a bit closer to him.

“Woulda thought you’d have been snapped up,” she says. “It feels like there’s no single guys left.”

George shrugs. “There’s gotta be a few,” he says. “I think Hercules is single.”

Jane doesn’t even glance at Hercules, and instead her free hand comes up to run lightly against his lower arm. “Oh, if someone like _you_ doesn’t have a girl then I’m sure I’ll get lucky.”

“Well, what do you look for in a guy?” He asks, feeling a little bit out of his element but he’s got no one to talk to right now and he doesn’t want to be _rude_.

“Oh, you know, he’s gotta be handsome,” Jane says. “I like hazel eyes on a guy. Funny, charming, in touch with his emotions.” George nods along, taking another sip of his wine. “What do you look for?”

“Um,” George’s eyes slide over to Alexander, who glances back at him but then looks between him and Jane. He smirks, winks and turns back to his card game. “Well, a good sense of humor. Someone who’s kind.” He doesn’t really know what he’s saying or where this is coming from but it’s pouring out of his mouth now. “Confident, too. Smart, _brilliant_. Someone who… who doesn’t care who I am, I suppose. That’s the biggest one.”

Jane hums, she looks over at Alexander and then back up at George. “Right,” she says. “You’re into Alexander then.”

George blinks, suddenly shocked out of his thoughts. He looks at her, wide-eyed, trying to pull the panic down. “What? No,” he says, fighting to keep his voice steady and fingers still. “No, I’m perfectly straight.”

“Uh huh,” she says.

“I am!” George insists. _How could she tell, oh god._ “I promise.” Jane just sips her drink.

“I’m gonna go talk to Hercules,” she says. “Maybe Alexander will teach you to play cards if you ask nice enough.” With that, she leaves his side and slides over next to Hercules. She runs her hand over his shoulder, looks down into his cards. George tries to swallow the lump in his throat with a mouthful of wine.

He watches the game for a few moments, completely lost in the rules. He glances over the players, Maria and Eliza, curled up together on one chair. Angelica and Church, sharing good-hearted elbows and trash-talking as they play. Even Hercules and Jane look like they’re getting along, even as Peggy glares at them over her cards.

He wants to go sit next to Alexander, to hide in his side and listen as Alexander ribs his friends. He wants to have Alexander run his hands through his hair again, wants to be _with_ him like the other couples in the room are.

Instead, he downs half of his remaining glass and sits next to Peggy Schuyler. “Excuse me, my dear,” he says lowly to her. “But I don’t quite know how to play and I’d like to learn.”

She glances at him. Her eyeliner is sharp and her eyeshadow matches the ombre in her hair. “Yeah well, I’m shit at hold’em, you might wanna ask one of the boys,” she says.

George’s hand tightens around his wine glass. “Come now,” he says, smiling his best smile down at her, “I’m sure you’re just fine. Now, what’s happening?” Peggy rolls her eyes and starts to explain the rules. George looks up to find Jane Church’s eyes boring into him from across the circle. He cocks an eyebrow at her, as if daring her to say anything, and takes another sip.

A moment later he yelps as Peggy’s elbow connects with his stomach. “Are you even listening or are you making suggestive faces at my future sister-in-law?” She asks. George feels his face go red as a few members of the group laugh. Jane smiles at him and he looks away. He makes eye contact with Alexander in the moment before Alexander looks away from him.

Alexander’s not laughing, and instead he simply grumbles out a “raise” and throws a handful of chips into the center. He takes a long, deep drink of his beer and nudges Lafayette until he takes his turn.

George ends up decidedly _not_ learning the rules of Texas Hold’em. He can’t get a hold of what’s a ‘full house’ versus a ‘flush’ versus a ‘straight,’ though he thinks perhaps that one is being made up to mock him. He can’t even keep track of how much each colored chip is worth. All he knows is that Angelica ends up taking the pot, with Alexander coming in second place.

“Second plays free,” Alexander says, and Angelica hands him one of her hard-won bills. She still makes off with sixty dollars, not including her own entry fee. After that the cards get put away and the drinks start going faster after that. Laurens gets the drunkest (no surprise there), but Peggy out drinks him without getting nearly as drunk.

People start to trickle out once Alexander cuts off the booze, and Lafayette is the last one to say goodbye until it’s just George and Alexander left.

“Did you have a good time?” Alexander asks. George nods, a bit surprised that he did have as much fun as he had. He’s still a little light headed from the wine and laughter.

“I should probably call Peter,” he says, fumbling for his phone. Alexander starts cleaning up beer bottles and plastic cups around George as he calls Peter and talks to him for a brief moment.

“He says he had to park a ways away and there’s been an accident on the road,” George says once he hangs up. “He says he should be here in half an hour.”

Alexander dumps the last armful of bottles into a recycling bin, then shrugs. “That’s fine, you can chill here for a minute.”

George nods his thanks and Alexander flops down onto his couch with a groan. George ends up standing awkwardly in the middle of the room for a moment before Alexander picks his head up. “You good?” He asks.

“Yes, I’m fine,” George responds. Alexander sits up and pats the space on the couch next to him.

“Come here,” he says. George eyes him as he takes a seat on the couch. He doesn’t remember Alexander drinking that much tonight, and he doesn’t seem that drunk, just a bit worn out. “Did you like everybody?”

George nods again. “The sisters were very nice,” he says.

“And what about Jane?” Alexander asks, one eyebrow cocked. “You two seemed like you were getting along nicely.”

George shrugs. “She was fine.”

“Just fine?” Alexander says.

“Nice girl, seemed like she might be interested in Hercules,” he says. Alexander’s eyebrows fly up.

“In _Hercules_?” He says, incredulously. George nods, and Alexander responds by bursting out laughing. “Georgie, Georgie, come on, she was flirting with _you_.”

George instantly feels his face heat up bright red, which only makes Alexander laugh harder. “She wasn’t,” he protests.

“Yes she was!” Alexander says. “She kept touching your arms and talking about finding someone handsome with _hazel eyes_.”

“You were listening?” George asks, voice small.

“Just enough to know she was totally trying to pick you up,” Alexander responds. George’s face gets even redder as _you’re into Alexander then_ comes back to him and he prays Alexander didn’t hear that or if he did that he didn’t believe it. “You’re trying to tell me you were totally oblivious?”

George just crosses his arms and looks at the wall. Alexander laughs again. “Oh, don’t pout Georgie. We’ve all been there. Coulda sworn you were flirting back, with the way you kept looking at her.”

George clears his throat. “If I was I didn’t mean to be,” he says. Alexander’s laugher ceases, and he looks at George curiously.

“So you weren’t into her?” Alexander asks.

“Well, she was sweet...” George trails, looking for the way to traverse this, praying Peter gets here fast. One of Alexander’s eyebrows curves up curiously.

“So you _were_ into her?” He asks. George shoots him a look, feeling his insides burn with mortification. He always hated this kind of talk even as a kid.

“Does it matter if I was?”

“I could get you her number,” Alexander offers, obviously missing the hint of a harsh tone in George’s voice. “Bet she’d love to go out on a date with you.”

“I don’t want to go out on a date with her,” George says. Alexander stops, then shrugs.

“Alright, alright,” he says. “You have to admit she is pretty cute though.” George just shrugs in response. _Where the hell is Peter?_ He wants another drink but he’s still swimming a bit in his last one. “She was right about one thing, I don’t understand how you’re still single man. You could have any girl you wanted. You’re good looking, wealthy, yeah, you could have any girl you wanted on your arm at any time.”

“Well what if I don’t want a girl?” George snaps, his head turning to look at Alexander harshly, the words coming out before he can stop them. Alexander blinks, taken aback a moment.

“Okay, um, I guess that makes sense. You’re still fairly new to the states and busy and all -”

And maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s Jane seeing through him earlier, maybe it’s the frustration over a lifetime of _when you find a nice girl_ , maybe it’s just because if there’s one person on earth he trusts with this it’s Alexander, maybe it’s a hundred things coming together in this one moment but George interrupts him with the last thing he ever thought he’d say to another person:

“ _No_ , Alexander, I don’t want a girl _. I don’t like girls_.”

Alexander stops, he blinks confusedly at George. “What-”

“I never had a crush on Adri, I’ve never had a girlfriend, I’m not interested in Jane Church, I’m -” George cuts off, unable to say the rest of it, instead just motioning back and forth between him and Alexander. Realization dawns on Alexander’s face and George can’t stand the sight of it because it means Alexander _knows_.

George stands from the couch in a huff, walking away and holding himself around the middle. He feels the urge to shake his hands and arms, but he holds them clamped down to his sides. He checks his phone, hoping he just missed Peter’s call, but there’s nothing. The consequences of what he’s just done are starting to get in, his stomach is starting to do that thing where it feels like it’s made of lead but still doing the tango.

“Georgie,” Alexander says, his voice so soft and _kind_ and it sounds a little like pity and it makes George’s skin crawl.

“Don’t,” George interjects, then winces as he realizes he’s interrupted someone _twice_. But Alexander is already speaking again.

“I’m sorry, you didn’t say anything before and I just assumed that -”

“Yes, well, everyone has always assumed I suppose,” he says. “It’s for the best they do. It’s not like it matters much anyway.”

“Well,” Alexander shifts in place, “no, I guess it doesn’t, but it still kinda does, I mean -”

“No, it doesn’t,” George says. He walks over to the one window in Alexander’s living room and looks out of it. No sign of Peter. “I’m going to marry a woman one day and my… proclivities don’t factor into that.”

“Why not?” Alexander asks. George feels his shoulders draw in tight.

“Because that’s the only option I’ve got,” George responds. He hears Alexander start up a protest and he just raises one hand to stop him. “I’m the only heir to the King fortune. I have to marry a woman and have kids and keep the family going.” He turns back to Alexander. “So whether or not I like women doesn’t matter.”

“You’re going to marry someone you don’t love for your _family_?” Alexander asks. George nods.

“Of course,” he says. “That is what I’m supposed to do, and so I will.”

Alexander blinks up at him, surprised. “Just because you get with a man doesn’t mean you wouldn’t have kids one day. Adoption or surrogacy or -”

“No, Alexander,” George says. “It’s more than that. I need to continue the family bloodline and if I’m... I can’t do that. I’d be disowned. _Disgraced_. I’d lose everything and for what? To live in depravity? You know Lafayette, you know what happened to him, _I_ can’t be like Lafayette! I can’t let that happen to me.” George folds his arms over his stomach. “I’ve known from the moment I figured it out I could never tell anyone. I can’t be… be _that_. So I’m not.”

“But you are gay,” Alexander says. George finches, his eyes cast to the ground, but after a moment, he musters every ounce of steel inside him and manages to look up at Alexander.

“I’m not,” he insists, “and any idea I might be stays between the two of us.” He looks at Alexander, sees the wide-eyed, almost painful expression on the other man’s face, and feels himself melt a little. “Alexander, please. Just… forget what I told you tonight. Please, I’m begging you, never breathe a word about it. I’d be ruined if you did.”

Alexander takes a breath, swallows, and slowly nods. “I’d never out you, you have my word.”

George’s phone buzzes in his pocket, he glances out the window and sees Peter parked there with his car. He nods one last time at Alexander. “I’ll be going then,” he says, and grabs his coat from where it rests on a coat rack.

“Text me later, okay?” Alexander calls after him when he’s halfway out the door. George pauses for just a moment, then:

“Of course,” he says, and he’s gone into the night.

\--------------

Alexander sits in silence with himself for a long time. _Dream come true_ , he thinks bitterly. He wants to laugh, wants to scream. _We at King’s disapprove of such unnatural couplings._ He feels so close and yet so far.

He throws himself back onto the couch with a groan. He should get out, he should abort mission now. What George has told him tonight dangles in front of him like candy on a string. He feels like he can’t reach no matter how hard as he tries. Staying involved in George King is a bad idea.

But when has Alexander ever not followed through on a bad idea? He’s in too deep already.

_Fuck my life,_ Alexander thinks to himself as he goes to bed. _Fuck it all_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jane Church was real but didn't do much. I spent too long trying to find her name for her to appear for this short period in a fanfic about an American Founding Father wanting to get it on with the King of England.
> 
> See you Friday!


	11. Sometimes You Just Gotta Internally Monologue For Two Pages. It Happens to the Best of Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talking about your crushes over beer, a few memories of growing up closeted, and a glimpse into Thomas' life.

Thomas wakes up and before he even moves he knows he’s fucked for the day. He’s woken up on his bad side, his leg trapped underneath him and bent at a bad angle. Well, a normal angle for most folks, but a bad angle for him

He knows the moment he moves he’s going to be in so much pain so he stays perfectly still and revels in a few minutes of being pain free. Then, he takes a deep breath, rolls onto his back and sits up as gingerly as possible. It’s not too bad until he swings his legs over the side of the bed and the resulting fire in his leg makes him see spots.

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself, one hand scrambling for his emergency meds. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_.” He just manages to shake two into his palm and down them, not even bothering with water. He knows he should get food in his system but he can’t fucking walk to the kitchen right now can he? The pain is shooting down all the way to his phantom foot, not just through the residual limb.

The fifteen minutes the medication takes to kick in are _excruciating_ , even as the pain in his leg slowly dies the discomfort in his stomach grows and he finds himself counting each breath just to have something to ground himself with.

When he can flex his knee with a bearable amount of pain, Thomas quickly grabs his crutches from where they lean on his nightstand and moves as quickly as possible to his kitchen. He shoves two slices of plain bread into his mouth, chokes it down dry and then grabs a bottle of Gatorade from the fridge. He needs the electrolytes, but after one bottle he’ll switch to plain water to keep himself hydrated.

Just another bad pain day, going through the same sucky routine and hoping it’ll be bearable enough to get through work with few problems.

The pain and pill fog starts to roll into his brain and Thomas sighs. Today’s going to be _really_ hard. He goes to call James and is halfway through dialing before his now sluggish brain reminds him James lives in New York now and can’t give him a ride to work.

So he calls Martha instead, knowing she’ll want him to stay home but he’s got court in a week and he _can’t_ take a day off now. So he’ll grit his teeth and get through this. It’s not unusual anyway, just a bit rarer these days than it used to be.

By the time Martha comes to pick him up, the pain has faded enough that he can slide on his prosthetic, wearing an extra sleeve to protect his sensitive leg stump from the hard plastic and the pressure of the suspension system. He trades his forearm crutches for his cane after a tentative test says he can manage with just that. He greets her with a smile on his face, cane in hand and pain pills in his briefcase.  

\-------------

George has been distracted for the past few days.

Not the usual “I’m a busy businessman and have seven things to do at once” kind of distracted, usually he can handle that and still be mostly in the moment. No, it’s gotten to be the “Can’t write an email in the usual span of time (twenty minutes) because I keep thinking about other things” kind of distracted. “I couldn’t remember the name for emeralds and called them ‘shiny green rocks’ kind of distracted. “Adrienne checked to see if I was running a fever” kind of distracted.

The kind of distracted where he goes to get some paperwork done, ends up thinking about something else for three hours and when he finally checks back in, Adrienne is filling out the papers while he’s been untangling silver necklace chains. There’s a carefully laid out row of them in front of him, but the knotted tangle in his hands still needs a lot of work until it’s undone.

George puts it down for a moment, only to feel the urge to keep picking at it, to keep picking at _something_. He looks up at Adrienne, ready to apologize because that that’s _his_ paperwork to do, but his fingers are still twitching, threatening to start picking at his skin instead of the thin little chains of metal in front of him.

If Adrienne notices that he stopped his mindless work and looked at her for a moment, she doesn’t react. The tangled chains are back in his hands before he can even really process it, and he’s back working on the knot with his mind a thousand miles away in but a moment.

So he’s distracted.

 _By what?_ One might ask. _What could be that pressing on your mind that you can’t even finish your paperwork?_

The answer: Alexander Hamilton. Well, Alexander Hamilton and _It_ and the conjunction of the two, to be precise. He’s spent just about every free (and some busy) hour of the day turning it all over in his mind, over and over again. Why had he told Alexander? What reckless, idiotic urge had seized him and made him tell Alexander about It? He had promised himself he’d never tell anyone and he’d kept that promise until last weekend because he told Alexander bloody Hamilton and now he can’t stop thinking about it all.

He hadn’t thought this much about It in years now. Not since he was a teenager and forced to take physical education and share a locker room with twenty boys from his class. The locker rooms at Hanover Boarding School for Gifted Children had been quite _open plan_ , to say the least. The main area where everyone would change was pretty open, the showers and bathroom stalls just behind one of the walls of lockers. There hadn’t been very many of them, and only covered by shower curtains, but George had always used them to change, no matter what. Never once had he allowed himself to be caught in the main area while the other boys were there, and never did he change in front of any other boy.

Not that anyone had ever really gotten _naked_ per se, or so George assumed. He didn’t know. He never risked it. All he’d known is that he was perverted, and he separated himself to one of the bathroom stalls for changing to protect the other boys. He knew what he was, he knew it was dangerous to be in that locker room with everyone else, he knew the way he thought about other boys sometimes. But he also knew he couldn’t exactly go to a teacher and explain _why_ he couldn’t be in the same locker room.

So he had his routine. He was always the first one into the lockers (risking getting yelled at for dodging the last minute of gym) and the last one out (another risk, but this just for being late to his next class). That’s what he did for all his years at Hanover’s, without fail. It’s not like any of the other kids ever paid attention to him anyway, his little hiding act went completely unnoticed.

George had long since taught himself to suppress every It-related thought, from teaching himself not to think of other boys as ‘pretty’ or ‘cute’ to removing any desire to reach out and touch one. And he’d been pretty successful at it, mostly. One snuck up every once in a while, but George knew how to shut it out and erase it from his mind.

Well, he’d been pretty good at it until Alexander Hamilton had shown up and ruined it. From the first time Alexander had grabbed his wrist and smiled at him in that cafe George had been fighting It off.

George should have cut off all contact with him then and there but Adrienne had made him keep his first day trip with Alexander and then George had been hooked and It had been looming larger and larger in his mind until it was staring him in the face and screaming _‘you like him’_ so loud George swears other people have to hear it.

And then he gets to the problem _of_ Alexander Hamilton. Specifically, the way he fits against George’s side during movie nights and the way Alexander is the only person he’d let drag him along by the wrist and how Alexander stayed despite seeing a fit and the way Alexander smiles and the way he looks in skinny jeans and the way he’s Alexander Hamilton and the most charming, beautiful man he’s ever met.

And Alexander knows now. Surprisingly, when George thinks about it, he’s not as worried about it as he thinks he should be. He’s still worried, of course, but it’s not this all-consuming fear that had always come at the thought of someone else finding out. He trusts Alexander, he realizes. If there’s any person on earth that he trusts with It, it’s Alexander. Something he wouldn’t trust Peter, Adrienne _or_ Mum with, he trusts Alexander with.

And that’s what’s got George walking around in a distracted daze and spending his work day picking apart necklace knots instead of doing anything actually important. He’s even thinking about it after work, at dinners and lunches with other people. It keeps him up at night because he _likes_ Alexander in that way he’s not supposed to like another man. The way he _can’t_ like another man.

He thinks about Alexander and his stomach does somersaults. It’s only gotten worse since he told Alexander about It. He thinks about the way Alexander’s hand felt in his that one time at _Dorothy’s_ and lets himself think about just getting to hold his hand whenever before shutting down that thought with _push It down, be a good boy, push It_ down.

But it returns. Over and over again. Holding Alexander’s hand and walking through the park like he’s seen in the movies he sometimes watches with Alexander or going on an actual date to a movie theatre instead of just being on his couch and or going out to dinner somewhere candle lit with a violin playing in the background -

 _Push It down, be a good boy, push It down_.

But it’s getting _so hard_ to just push it aside.

So George decides the only thing to do is to go back to what he used to do in the locker room of Hanover’s: avoid any possible contact with the object of his awful desires until it goes away. He will just comfortably and professionally cut associations with Alexander and his friends until he’s back to normal and George will never have to think about Alexander’s soft hair and handsome eyes ever again.

That plan goes very well for about two hours until Alexander texts him and George practically trips over himself to respond quickly. **_oh my god georgie you remember that story about senate campaign finances i was working on?_**

George barely understands the setup of the American government, let alone anything about politics or campaign finance law, but his heart still flutters at Alexander’s name popping up on his phone and ‘georgie’ and Alexander’s energy that just comes seeping through the text. **_Yes? What about it?_**

**_okay so, i got my hands on a gop memo about expenditures in the last alabama race and Holy Shit_ **

The very fact Alexander even capitalized anything makes George smile. He can picture the brilliant light in Alexander’s eyes as he talks at a thousand miles a minute, hands gesturing wildly as he goes on and on about whatever has captured his mind. George can see where Alexander is typing again and he waits for the next message to come through, heart in his throat.

He doesn’t understand a goddamn word Alexander sends him but Alexander sounds so excited so George is excited _for_ him.

“Adrienne?” George asks, still looking down at his phone. “Can you explain to me what Alexander’s on about this time?”

\--------------

A day later, George is just about to take his lunch when Adrienne sticks her head into the office. “Sir? Someone’s here that wants to see you,” she says. George frowns, looking up from his desk.

“Can it wait until after lunch?” He asks.

“Considering I’m carrying your lunch, I don’t think it should,” comes Alexander’s voice as he leans past Adrienne to look in George’s office. In his hand is a brown paper bag that he holds out towards George. “Smells fucking good too.”

George smiles, the conflicting feelings of trust and fear making his stomach twist a little. “Well, you ought to come in then,” he says. Alexander comes in, Adrienne shutting the door behind him, leaving them both alone in the office. George quickly puts his papers aside as Alexander comes up and puts the bag on the desk.

“You alright Georgie?” Alexander asks, looking over at him. George forces the smile a little bit wider, trying to make it look as genuine as possible.

“Of course! Just a stressful morning,” he says. Alexander looks like he doesn’t quite believe that, but he sits down on his side of the desk. George quickly grabs the bag of takeout and busies himself with digging through the take out boxes. Quickly he finds his usual bowl of fairly plain pasta, slathered in butter and peppered with little pieces of chicken and tomatoes. The rest of it he assumes is Alexander’s.

He hands the other two plastic bowls and plastic cutlery to Alexander, and when Alexander cracks them open the dual smells of something lightly fried and something else very spicy arise from them. It makes George’s nose itch, but he pushes down the urge to rub at his face and instead starts to eat himself.

“Adrienne didn’t recruit you for food delivery duty, did she?” George asks. Alexander sticks a pot sticker into his mouth and shakes his head.

“Nah, I was coming around anyway,” he says, one hand covering his mouth as he speaks with food still in it. He leans back in his chair, holding his two bowls in his lap, and he kicks his feet up onto the desk. “Just convenient for me to pick it up.”

George nods, swallowing his mouthful of noodles before speaking. “Is there something you needed or any particular reason…?” He trails. Alexander shrugs.

“Hadn’t seen your office before,” he says. “Also kinda wanted to check up on you.”

“Check up on me?” George asks, taking a sip from his bottle of water.

“Yeah, the last time we saw one another…” Alexander motions between the two of them. “And you seemed a bit stiff over text. Figured I should stop by and make sure everything’s alright.”

George’s stomach flips, again with two conflicting feelings. “Everything’s alright,” he says, both worry and warmth in swirling his chest. Alexander came to see him because he was worried, but George made him worried because George told him about It, but Alexander still wants to make sure he’s okay.

Alexander cocks an eyebrow and he swallows a mouthful of orange pasta. “Georgie,” he says, and George knows that tone. He’s learned that it means Alexander can see through him. George hunches over his food and looks at the desk.

“I’ve been a little off,” he admits. Alexander pulls his feet off the desk and leans forward. George doesn’t look up at him, he can’t force himself to make eye contact.

“What’s wrong?” Alexander asks. George can see the part of his chest that’s just above the desk.

“It’s a little… weird having someone else know,” George says, as quietly as possible, glancing over towards the door. “It’s been only in my head for so many years and now I’ve told someone and it’s odd.”

“Is it a good odd or a bad odd?” Alexander asks, matching his volume. George fidgets, twirling his plastic fork in his pasta without much aim.

“I’m not sure,” he says. Alexander nods.

“That’s alright,” he says. “Whatever you’re feeling is okay. But -” Alexander reaches across and puts his hand gently on George’s arm - “I want you to know I’m proud of you for telling me.”

George forces himself to look up, the single moment of eye contact is overwhelming but he makes himself hold it for as long as possible before he has to look back down at his food. “Thank you,” he says, softly, the tingling grateful warmth filling his body and the fear bows before it for just a moment. Alexander’s tan fingers squeeze his arm gently before he leans back into his chair.

“You’re gonna be okay Georgie,” Alexander says, going back to his food. George lets out a pent-up breath, but he doesn’t respond. He goes to take another bite, buy him some time to think up another track of conversation - “Are _we_ okay?”

George almost chokes on his mouthful of food before managing to swallow it quickly. “What - what do you mean?” He asks with a little cough. Alexander looks up at him, digging into his bowl that George notices is already almost empty.

“I mean, you were kinda upset last Friday and I guess… I guess I’m asking if you’re upset with me or something,” he says, nonchalantly, but with a glimmer in his eyes that betrays his casual tone.

George shakes his head. “No, I’m not upset with you,” he says, “I was just a bit upset with myself.” Alexander hums questioningly while he chews. “I wasn’t expecting to tell you… what I told you and I was quite upset with myself for that.”

Alexander looks at him searchingly. George realizes belatedly he’d slipped into Business George, the smile on his face the placating, charming one. “I mean, I - um,” he looks for something else to say. “I just didn’t - didn’t think I’d ever tell anyone that and it was - it was already hard enough going to _Dorothy’s_ and um, pretending and all and now you know and it’s - it’s just been on my mind and u-usually I don’t think about it this much so it’s a bit, uh, upsetting.”

Alexander nods, slowly. “Alright,” he says. “I get it. Some things suck to have to think about.” George glances up and he can’t quite figure out what the expression on Alexander’s face is, but he swallows as his brain starts to kick into overdrive.

“I’m not - I’m not saying it’s -” he struggles to find the words. “I’m happy for you, Alexander, and Laurens and Lafayette and the two girls at your party but I just - I can’t be like you.” George winces. “There’s nothing wrong with being… it’s just that _I_ can’t.”

Alexander lets out a long breath, his hand clenched tightly around a fork. “I understand what you’re saying,” he says. There’s a moment of terse silence between them and then Alexander lets out another sigh. “Whatever’s best for you Georgie.” He leans forward and puts his empty bowls and used cutlery on the desk. “So, stressful morn -” Alexander pauses, and George looks up to find him looking at a painting hanging on George’s office wall.

“Is that…” Alexander trails a moment, head cocking as he looks at it. “Is that one of John’s?”

George looks over at the painting, a landscape of a New York city street at night, the perspective tilted upwards slightly. The bottom of it is brightly lit by street lights with blurry people-shaped figures walking along the sidewalk. The farther up the eye travels, the darker it gets even with lights shining in the windows of the buildings. By the time you get to the top, the buildings have melted into the night sky and it’s hard to make out what lights are windows and what lights are stars.

The rich colors had caught George’s eye even just from Laurens’ online portfolio, and the real thing was even more beautiful. The dark purples of the top contrast the gentle, dark golds and George can swear he almost recognizes some of the blurry shapes on the sidewalk. The tall, dark figure with a poof of hair, the shorter tan figure in a bright green jacket, the wide figure in a hat and an armful of fabric. Other shapes - a smaller darker-colored man in purple, three women he’s only recently come to recognize as the Schuylers - are painted just the same and leaves no doubt in George’s man that every person in the picture is someone Laurens really knows.

“Yes,” George says. Alexander looks at him in surprise.

“You bought one of John’s paintings and hung it up in your office?” Alexander asks.

George shrugs. “I thought it was pretty,” he says, stuttering. “And I heard him talking about how he’s struggling to make ends meet with his art and I wanted to help him out but then I remembered what you told me about giving gifts and I figured that applied to the rest of your friends too so I thought I could just buy something he made and send Adrienne to get it and he’d never know.’

In the middle of George’s ramblings, Alexander stands up and approaches the framed painting hanging on George’s wall. He examines it, a disbelieving half smile on his face. As George finishes speaking, Alexander just shakes his head.

“Georgie, you…” he trails for a moment, “You certainly are _something_.”

George’s heart skips a beat. “Should I have not done that?” He asks tentatively. They already had an argument about something like this. Did he screw up the second chance Alexander had given him?

Alexander looks back at him with a smile on his face. “No, you did good, I just - you continue to surprise me.” He comes back over and George finds himself wrapped up in a hug. George feels himself stiffen, his arms coming up to hang in the air uncertainly. “You have to be the sweetest guy I’ve ever met.”

And doesn’t that just make George melt until he’s hugging Alexander back gently.

\--------------

“You know what _I_ think George needs?” John says, leaning on Hercules’ side. Those two, Alexander and Laf are all sat around Laf’s front room that same day Alexander went to see George at his office. Alexander isn’t really sure how they got on the topic of George, but John is already speaking again. “He just needs to get laid.”

Alexander’s stomach flips, his hand clenches around the glass of water in his hands. Lafayette’s expression twists. “You think so?” He asks. John nods.

“Absolutely. Have you seen the guy?” John asks. “He’s _beyond_ sexually repressed. He needs to find a girl, get some and maybe then he’ll be able to chill a little bit. Find someone he can just be himself around and let out some of all that stress he’s carrying around.”

The image of a girl on George’s arm makes Alexander stuck in a harsh breath. What he knows about George and what he feels about George makes his chest heavy, makes his blood boil as he thinks about George finding a girlfriend.

“I don’t think that’d be good for him,” Alexander says. “He’s very busy and wouldn’t have time for a girlfriend.”

John cocks one eyebrow. “Oh really?” he says. “ _That’s_ why you think George shouldn’t get a girlfriend?”

“It wouldn’t be a healthy relationship!” Alexander insists. John shares a glance with Herc and looks back at Alexander.

“Alexander, buddy, my dear friend,” John says. “You need to go get laid too.”

Alexander blinks, physically recoiling and leaning back away from John. “Excuse me?”

“You need some decent dick, and _soon_.” John points at Alexander in emphasis. Herc nods, though Lafayette just sighs. “I’m serious!” John says to Alexander’s incredulous look. “The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”

“And just who am I getting over?” Alexander asks. John gives him his best _you have to be fucking kidding_ me look. Alexander looks over at his other two friends and find matching, incredulous looks. “It really is that obvious?”

“Yeah,” John says. Herc nods.

“Only someone as oblivious as George could miss it,” Lafayette says. Alexander drops his face into his hand. “I’m so sorry, my friend, but…”

“He looks like a twink but he’s straight as fuck,” John says, blunt as ever.

Alexander can’t stop the small, breathy laugh that escapes him. He winces internally, but at the same time _if only they knew_. “I know, I know,” Alexander says, looking up at the group. “It’s fine.”

“Alexander, it’s not fine,” Lafayette says. “You can’t expect to get over your feelings by spending as much time with him as you have. That’s not how it works.”

“Yeah well, it’s gonna get cut down anyway,” Alexander grumbles. “He might be coming out for boys night anymore.”

All three of the others look a bit taken aback at this. “What do you mean?” Herc asks. Alexander lets out a breath.

“He might not be coming to _Dorothy’s_ anymore. Dunno why, he just said he couldn’t,” Alexander lies, crossing his arms.

“Is everything alright?” Herc asks.

“Yeah it’s fine,” he says. “Well, we got into an argument but it’s fine.”

Lafayette’s eyes shine, as the other two men glance at one another. Laf’s lips purse as he leans towards Alexander. “Alexander -”

“I said it’s _fine_ ,” he snaps. Lafayette gives him that look that means _I know you’re keeping something from me_ , but Laf doesn’t say anything else. Alexander takes a mouthful of water, then frowns into the glass. “Do you have any beer or some shit? I need alcohol.”

Lafayette frowns but gets up and walks into his kitchen anyway. Alexander looks over at John and Herc to see matching looks of concern. “I’m good guys,” Alexander says before either of them can speak. “But I don’t need to ‘get any dick’ or whatever, and George doesn’t need a girl right now either.”

“Well, maybe,’ Herc says, “you do know him best out of all of us. But it’s probably gonna happen sometime.”

Alexander’s frown deepens. He really doesn’t like the thought of George with some woman. As Lafayette comes back with a glass full of some dark liquid, Alexander says: “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there. Besides, who are the two of you to talk? Mister Hercules “Peggy Schuyler Scares Me But That Turns Me On” Mulligan and John “I Want Aaron Burr To Step On Me.” Laurens.”

Herc frowns and John goes pink. “I don’t want him to _step_ on me,” John protests. “I’m not into feet.”

Alexander cocks one eyebrow, in a friendly mocking sort of way. “Oh but if he wanted to you’d let him.”

John’s ears go pick. “Hey fuck you,” is John’s eloquent response. Alexander takes the glass Lafayette offers him, and takes a sip to find a rum and coke that’s mostly coke. “You’d drop onto your knees at the speed of light if George even _hinted_ he’d want you to.”

Alexander chokes slightly on his drink, the mental image of _that_ catching him off guard and he really doesn’t want to start thinking that way in front of his friends. Lafayette looks between the two of them. “If this is the conversation we’re having, I need a drink as well. I can’t go down the sexual history of you two while I’m sober.”

Herc chuckles and motions for something himself. The tension broken, the evening returns to normal, but in the back of his mind Alexander is stuck thinking about George. George with a woman, which is awful and makes his blood churn, or George with _him_ , which awful and makes his blood churn in a completely different way.

He downs his first drink as fast as he can. Best to try and clear his mind before he makes himself upset or otherwise… excited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everybody forgets about Thomas’ limp so I just cut the bottom half of his leg off. Whoops?
> 
> See you Friday


	12. Theodosia Provides Some Badly Needed, Pure and Gentle Wlw Content

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander goes to a party

John’s suggestion that Alexander ‘get some decent dick” comes back when he, John and Laf all find themselves at a club one night after work. Herc had to stay late at his shop to finish off an order, so it’s just the three of them in the flashing lights and pounding music.

Or it would be the three of them if Lafayette hadn’t spotted a pretty girl by the bar and gone off to see if he couldn’t buy her a drink. Alexander quickly lost sight of Laf in the darkness and the crowd of the club, despite the man’s incredible height. Which left Alexander and John nursing their own drinks by a table, eyeing the crowd.

“That one’s cute,” John shouts into Alexander’s ear, pointing towards an admittedly attractive fellow hovering by the DJ booth. Alexander only spares a passing glance through the strobe lights at him before shaking his head. John makes an exasperated noise beside his face. “We’ve been through nearly every attractive guy here!”

“I’m not gonna hook-up with someone just to get over George,” Alexander shouts back. John rolls his eyes and goes back to looking at the throbbing mass of dancers on the floor. Alexander can feel the music thumping in his chest, like his very bones are shaking in his chest. He knows his ears will be ringing when he leaves, but for now it’s nice to let the sheer volume of it all overwhelm him.

_Georgie would hate it,_ he thinks absentmindedly. _Too much noise, too many people. Probably hate how hot it is too._ He pictures George, red faced, flustered, wearing a nice business suit in a dark, sweaty club like this. It’s almost cute if Alexander ignores how uncomfortable and anxious he would be. But if he wasn’t - if George was relaxed, perhaps a little buzzed, getting a bit too warm and loosening his tie, popping open a few buttons of his shirt, rolling up his sleeves -

“Stop it,” John says, pulling Alexander back to reality. Alexander blinks and looks over at his friend. “You’re thinking about George, stop it.”

“Am not,” Alexander protests. John cocks an eyebrow.

“You were wearing the “I’m thinking about George King” expression.”

Alexander frowns and downs the rest of his drink. The alcohol burns as it goes down his throat, but it warms his stomach nicely. John puts a hand on his shoulder. “Alexander. Go dance. Find someone for the night.”

“I’m not gonna -” Alexander starts to insist, not for the first time, but he notices that John’s attention has been stolen by a group in the corner. There’s a gathering of women in party dresses, the centermost one wearing a sash across her chest and a crown on her head. _Bachelorette party,_ Alexander realizes in the moment before one of the girls leans back and a single male figure can be spotted.

Aaron Burr smiles at the bride-to-be as the rest of the group starts chanting. Alexander can’t hear what they’re saying, but the sashed woman grabs two shot glasses and downs them both in rapid succession. The girls all cheer and the bride blinks smiles wide.

Alexander looks over at John, who’s staring directly at Burr, eyes wide. If Alexander has an expression for thoughts of George King, John certainly has one for “I’m looking at Burr but he’s not looking at me” that looks like a puppy staring out of a cage at the pound, watching someone trying to pick a dog to adopt.

Alexander elbows John in the side and John jumps. His head snaps around to look at Alexander and Alexander leans up to speak. “ _You’re_ the one who needs a good hook-up.” John just scowls at him, and now they’re two hypocrites frowning at each other in a dark club. Over John’s shoulder, he spots one of the women at the table walking in their direction.

Alexander thinks she’s about to walk past them, but then she stops just behind John and taps him on the shoulder. John turns around and Alexander can just barely hear her say: “see something you like?” She smirks as John’s ears go red.

Alexander peeks around them towards the bachelorette table to find that Burr’s shrunk into the booth, leaning down to hear the bride-to-be speak, face turned away from them. The bride catches Alexander’s eye and she smirks. With one hand she motions to him to _come over_ , and the gaggle of women giggle and _oooh._

Alexander gives John another nudge with his elbow. “Come on,” he says, “let’s go see Burr.” John looks like he’s about to protest but then the woman grabs him by the hands and leads him over to the table. Alexander follows behind, reaching the table just as John is shoved into the booth to sit next to Burr.

Burr sits stiff as stone as John tries to scoot back out but they’re pressed together by a couple of pink-faced, giggling women. Still, they adamantly refuse to look at one another, and John meets Alexander’s eyes with a silent plea for _help_.

“Good evening Laurens,” Burr says, coughing. The bride next to him swats him on the shoulder, movements slightly uncoordinated.

“Be _nice_ Aaron,” she says. Aaron shoots her a look and does not look over at John.

“It was until _you_ showed up Burr,” John says, and Alexander rolls his eyes. The women look at each other in shock, a bit more confused now.

“Actually, I think we were here first,” Burr responds. “This is Theodosia.” He points to the bride, who sticks her hand out towards John.

“ _I’m getting maaaarrrieeeed!”_ She says, drunkenly sing-song. John looks over in her direction - and by extension Burr’s - for the first time.

“Congratulations,” John says.

“Who’s your friend?” One of the girls asks, looking at Alexander. Alexander sticks his hand out to her.

“Alexander Hamilton,” he says. The woman takes his hand, bites her lip as she looks him up and down.

“Glad to meet _you_ ,” she says.

“He’s single,” John pipes in, helpful, and the twinkle in the woman’s eyes grows. Alexander shoots him a look but the woman grabs his attention again by squeezing his hand.

“And I’m Kitty,” she says by way of introduction. “Kitty Livingston.”

“Charmed,” he says, and pulls his hand back. Kitty eyes him hungrily but then Theodosia leans over the table, holding her phone out to him.

“That’s Dolley!” She says, grinning wide. “She’s gonna be my wife!” Alexander peers down at the phone - swaying slightly because Theodosia can’t keep her arm still - and finds a photo og Theodosia with another woman. They’re lying together on some grass, Dolley’s arm behind Theodosia’s head and her hijab blowing slightly in the wind. “She’s so beautiful.”

Alexander nods, his hand clenching around his cup. He shouldn’t be jealous or angry, he knows it’s wrong and completely misplaced, but the breezy smile on Theodosia’s face when she even says Dolley’s name fills Alexander with a longing. “She is,” he says, simply. Theodosia pulls her phone back and looks down at the photo.

“I’m so lucky,” she says, the fingers of one hand stroking the phone screen like she could reach through and touch her fiancé. “She’s so pretty.” And then she bursts into tears, smiling down at her phone. One of the other women instantly wraps her arms around Theodosia, shushing her gently and pressing another shot into her hand. Theodosia takes it, throws it back, and a few breaths later has stopped crying, and instead is whooping and hollering as a new song starts to play over the club speakers.

Alexander laughs and looks over at John, only to find that he’s been pressed into Burr’s side by drunk women and that their standoff has softened a little. They’re exchanging quiet words, even as John sits with his arms crossed and his eyes glued on some faraway spot on the wall. He looks like he could burn a hole in the wall from the sheer force of his glare, but Alexander can also see where the redness on his ears has started to appear on his cheeks and neck.

Burr looks… well, Burr-like. Completely unfazed and like he just ate something that wasn’t bad, per se, but wasn’t all that great either and he’s come to the conclusion that he can eat more of it anyway. He laughs at something Theodosia does and John’s frown twitches a little bit deeper.

_Jesus, at least I’m friends with George,_ Alexander thinks, finally finishing his drink. “Hey, I’m gonna go find Laf,” he says to John. John’s eyes widen and his expression reads something like: _please don’t leave me here with him_ , but Alexander is already walking away.

It doesn’t take him long to find Laf, though he immediately regrets even going to look for him. That woman he went to go flirt with currently has her tongue down his throat, his back to a club wall and hand in her hair. Alexander sighs, goes to the bar instead and gets another drink.

Is it him or is everyone around him in pairs or otherwise coupled together?

Alexander turns around - he should go rescue John because he _knows_ nothing’s going to ever come of that tonight - and finds himself face-to-face with Kitty Livingston.

“Hey!” She says, long blond hair cascading down the front of one shoulder in waves. “What’s up?”

Alexander shrugs. “Fifth wheeling,” he says, jerking a thumb first in Lafayette’s direction and then in the direction of Theodosia’s party. Kitty smiles and holds out her hand.

“Wanna dance?” She asks. Alexander looks at it, and for a moment George’s face flashes in front of his eyes. _I can’t be…_ George says, his voice sounding like it did that night - quiet, desperate, like he’s one wrong word from breaking down.

But John and the rest are right. It doesn’t matter that they don’t know George is gay, they’re still right in the fact that George is determined to stay closeted and end up with a woman. Alexander knows it’ll wreck him to watch that if he’s still in this deep for George.

Maybe it’s that thought that actually gets Alexander to take her hand, to let her lead him out into the large, moving crowd. The music is still vibrating in his chest as Kitty pushes their way into the middle of the dance floor. She stops, turns and starts to dance, their bodies pressed close together simply by the nature of the crowd.

She’s an alright dancer. Coordinated enough that she can move to the rhythm, her chest pressing into his, hips rolling, arms running down his and waving in the air. Alexander moves along, feeling almost clinical as he watches her movement in order to match her correctly. He feels the music, feels her skin on his and it’s just… fine. He’s barely interested except for as focused as he has to be to dance and grind against her properly.

He wonders if George has ever danced like this with anybody. George went to college, certainly, but did he ever go clubbing or anything? The thought of uptight George trying to sway, bump and grind like Kitty almost makes him laugh.   _Bet he knows how to waltz or some shit_ , he thinks to himself, and that brings to mind a different sight.

George all dressed up in a tux with a rose pinned to his chest, gently leading someone in a giant ball gown like from some movie around and around to the sound of violins. His gentle smile as her dress swirls around their feet, his hand solidly planted on her waist and the other grasping hers in the air. He stumbles slightly, but recovers, and Alexander laughs as he stands back upright. Alexander looks into his eyes as they find their rhythm again, his grey suit sleeve a nice contrast to George’s jet black jacket -

“ _Alexander!_ ” Kitty shouts directly into his ear. Alexander blinks back to reality and he’s in a club with a woman pressed against his chest. His hand comes up to run up her back as if to comfort her and egg her on but she smiles against his ear. “Have too much to drink already?”

He shakes his head and she pulls back, eyeing him carefully. Then she gently takes his hand and pulls him from the dancefloor and into one of the bathrooms. Alexander’s heart skips a beat, he tears his hand from hers the moment the door shuts. “I’m sorry, I don’t -”

“I know,” Kitty says, not even blinking as he pulls away. The music still thuds through the door. She walks up to the large mirror and leans over the sink. “You boys are so easy to read sometimes.” Alexander blinks, looking at Kitty’s face in the mirror.

“I should go,” he says, and Kitty makes eye contact with him through the reflection.

“No, stay. Girl talk time,” she says. Alexander leans back and Kitty rolls her eyes. Her hands come up to her slightly disheveled hair and she starts to play with it, gently pulling it back in place. “What’s their name?”

Alexander stares at her in shock. Kitty cocks one eyebrow. “You had a look on your face like you were thinking of someone else, so out with it.” Alexander sighs.

“So John’s right? There _is_ a particular expression?” He asks. Kitty nods, lips pursed in sympathy. He crosses his arms and looks at the wall. There’s tons of graffiti scrawled on the tile and he lets his eyes trace the lines. “I can’t tell you their name.”

Kitty nods. “Closeted or something?”

“Oh yeah,” Alexander says. Kitty once again gives him a look of sympathy before focusing on the mirror again and pulling out a tube of lipstick. “I know I shouldn’t stick around him, but I…” Kitty makes a noise in her throat, lips parted as she puts her makeup back on. “I don’t know how to deny myself those kinds of things.”

“And he’s not willing to come out?” She asks. Alexander shakes his head. She rubs her lips together, smacks them once and grabs for a paper towel. “Well, you’ve got a couple options then.” She quickly blots her lips and then starts to carefully clean up the corners. “You either try and move on, _or_ you suck it up and go for it anyway.”

“Go for it anyway?”

Kitty nods. “Deal with the fact he’s not willing to come out and see if you can’t nab him anyway. It’d be hard, one hell of a secret to keep, and I really don’t see that working out in the long term unless he changes his mind, but it’s an option. Get him out of your system and move on.”

Alexander frowns. “‘Get him out of my system?’” He repeats. “That’s not - you don’t know him, that would hurt him so bad.”

Kitty shrugs, wadding up her paper towel and throwing it away. “Then don’t.” She must see the way he bites at his lip, hesitating. “Or do. Up to you.”

“It’d be selfish,” Alexander says.

“Yeah.”

“But I want him.”

“You sure do,” Kitty says. “I’m gonna go see if I can’t go find another guy. Unless…?” She takes one more look at Alexander, and rolls her eyes. “Nevermind. Good luck.” She opens the bathroom door, and says over her shoulder: “Also this is the men’s bathroom, so you’re good for however long.”

With that, she’s gone, and Alexander is left alone, staring at himself in the mirror alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter this week because I'm not going to have much time to write for the next month and I had to build up my backlog somehow 
> 
> See you Friday.


	13. My Childhood of Classical Music Training Came In Handy Once To Name Drop Vivaldi In Gay Fanfic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George goes to a party

Charity balls are always a droning affair.

Forgive him for not understanding - to be fair, George doesn’t understand a lot of things like this or in general, he  _ knows _  he’s kind of dense - but he really doesn’t get the point of these. Most of the fundraising already happened and wouldn’t the money used to pay for the ball be better used by Doctors Without Borders or the Red Cross or whatever puppies they’re trying to feed. He doesn’t really remember which one this is for. But  _ King’s  _ is only a minor doner, so it doesn’t really matter. He doesn’t have to give a speech like the people from the major donors do. Not that he doesn’t  _ care  _ about charities or helping poor African kids get an education, he does. He just hates the balls and the walks and all the events he’s forced to attend. Can’t he just pay for whatever it is and  _ not  _ attend these empty vanity parties?

But here he is, dressed in a perfectly pressed suit, a flower pinned to his lapel, holding a flute of champagne and weaving his way through throngs of people. It’s black tie, and George can tell because the bowtie is almost strangling him and the reflection of light on his cufflinks keeps catching his eye and distracting him for just a moment.

He glances over at the press jacket, but there’s no Alexander here tonight. He’d only get so lucky once. Still, he checks. God does he check every public party and appearance.  _ Vanity Fair  _ must have someone else who usually covers these kinds of things.

So he follows the usual pattern. Approach a group with someone he even vaguely knows, smile, make conversation. Push aside any questions about himself or the business. He finds a pattern from his grab bag of of pre-written phrases and it’s almost like he’s working from a script from the rest of the night.

He hits his rhythm within the first three conversations, and once he’s there he’s there. Mingling and moving across the ballroom from group to group, focusing only on  _ oh, hello! Didn’t see you there  _ and  _ my mother has always been passionate about children’s issues _  and through the rest of his lines.

He gets it down to twelve and a half minutes per conversation before he splits off. Long enough to make his appearance, short enough not to get caught in a longer conversation. The time ticks down in his head through each round.  _ Oh hello,  _ time starts.  _ Wonderful to see you, you ought to call sometime, we could have dinner,  _ time ends. Next person.  _ Oh, hello - _

“George!” Calls a voice, jolting George out of his current conversation with some New York city councilman at just under the six minute mark. He doesn’t fumble, his smile stays plastered in place as he turns to find Charles Farnese coming through the crowd, a young woman in tow behind him. “There you are, I’ve been looking all  _ over  _ for you.”

“Charles,” George greets, nodding apologetically to the councilman who steps away. “I did not know you were in the states again.”

“Oh, you know, you have to keep tabs on your overseas men,” Charles says. His nasal voice makes George want to shrink away - he thinks he remembers actually crying once as a small child because of this man’s awful voice and bulbous  nose. He also remembers being heavily scolded and punished for that, so he stands tall and smiles as Charles continues to speak. “Don’t want to let them thinking they can slack off because the boss is in Spain.”

George laughs politely. “That’s half the reason I was sent over to stay,” he says, taking a sip of his champaign to stall. Charles smiles brightly up at him. For an older man starting to wrinkle, Charles was still quite spritely as he quickly danced to the side and waved a young woman forward.

“George, do you remember Charlotte Mecklenburg?” Charles says, taking the hand of the woman. George blinks, looking her up and down quite quickly.

“Charlotte, really?” George says. “You’ve grown up  _ stunning _ .” It’s not a lie, the eldest child is beautiful in that perfectly packaged plastic way. Her smile is white and charming, her face smooth and perfectly made up. She stands a few inches taller than Charles, but still a bit shorter than George. Her long purple gown hugs her perfectly through the torso and cascades to the floor in a large skirt.

She looks breathtaking.

George feels a pit settle in his stomach.

“You turned out too bad looking yourself,” she says, no hint of German accent. She’s had it smoothed and ironed out. “I remember a face full of acne and peach fuzz.” She runs her manicured hand along her own chin in a teasing manner. George forces his smile bigger, a good-hearted chuckle out of his mouth and gently shakes his head.

“And  _ I  _ remember a bit more than peach fuzz, though perhaps it was touch misguided.” Charlotte laughs and George resists the urge to feel at his own face. “Did I really still have that pathetic attempt at a beard at graduation?”

“Your mother made you shave it off, remember?” Charlotte says, eyes twinkling. George fakes recollection, he remembers that well.

“Right, yes. What are you doing in New York?” George asks, keeping up the friendly tone.

“Well!” Charles jumps in, cutting off Charlotte but she lets him go. “I and the family where coming over for a trip and Maria Luisa - you remember my daughter?” George nods, even if he really doesn’t remember. “- Maria Luisa asked if she could bring a couple of friends.”

“I’ve never been here, thought it would be nice to see,” Charlotte says with a smile. She goes to continue but quite suddenly, Charles makes a little ‘oof’ sound and jumps a little.

“Oh, that’s Bloomburg over there, I should probably say hello.” Charles pats Charlotte’s hand. “Why don’t you catch up with George, hm?” With that, Charles waddles into the crowd at a greater speed than an older man of short stature should be able to. George has a singular thought that he looks a bit like a penguin, but then he’s gone and Charlotte steps close and grabs his attention again.

“Your mother said you were in the city,” Charlotte says. “I was going to drop by, say hello, but…” she motions at the ball around her.

“Well, it’s fantastic to see you again,” George says, gears in his brain turning rapidly, trying to reconfigure a plan for the evening now that the old one’s shot. He can’t leave Charlotte alone, that would be rude and disrespectful. “Hanover’s seems like a lifetime ago, doesn’t it?”

Charlotte giggles and nods. “Thank god, secondary was hell.” She leans in almost conspiratorially, like they’re in some sort of standing pact that secondary school was awful. Well, it’s not that George disagrees, and his instinct is to lean in a bit closer and voice that agreement, but there’s something that catches for a minute. Like a fishhook in his brain, holding him back and tugging insistently.

Even as he follows through with his instinct, what he’s be taught to do, he looks up at Charlotte smiling at him and the hook tugs a little harder. He’d known Charlotte in secondary, of course he had. They weren’t close and they hadn’t spent massive amounts of time with each other, but they knew each other in the way small, elite boarding school students know everyone on campus.

But here Charlotte was, smiling and laughing and reminiscing about George’s failure to ever grow proper facial hair like they had been close friends. She’s acting like they’re  _ still  _ friends. And the moment George realizes that, he realizes he’s been acting right back.

A part of him goes:  _ of course, that’s how you’re supposed to act. You might as well be friends _ .

Another part that sounds suspiciously like Alexander goes:  _ Really? _

“Huh,” George says, not realizing he made the sound aloud until Charlotte blinks and tilts her head in concern.

“Huh?” She repeats back. George quickly blinks and reaffixes the smile on his face.

“Oh I was just thinking about how well this light suits you,” he says. It’s the first thing that comes to mind, but she smiles and relaxes.

“Why thank you,” she says. “I don’t remember you being so charming in school.”

George doesn’t know how  _ charming  _ that line was but he’ll take it. He’s way out of his depth here and he feels uncomfortable just giving her compliments like this.  _ Always flatter a lady,  _ George knows.  _ You never know, one might take a fancy to you _ . Which is the end goal, isn’t it?

In the breath of silence George let stretch here, the small orchestra begins to play a different tune and the current set of dancers by the musicians starts to disperse and find new partners. Charlotte’s gaze is locked on the orchestra from the first few notes, her smile turning a little softer.

George looks over as well, if only to have something to look at that’s not Charlotte. George knows nothing about classical music, but this one sounds gentle and light. In moves in three and it makes George think it’s a waltz, and the way the dancers start to move all but confirms that for him.

“Oh,” Charlotte says, and her voice now sounds like melted dark chocolate. Husky with a german twinge, but gentle and a little wistful. “They’re paying Vivaldi.”

“Oh?” George asks, trying to remember who Vivaldi is and coming up empty. Charlotte nods.

“His  _ Spring _ . One of my favorite pieces.” Charlotte starts to play gently with her necklace. George’s stomach drops. He knows what he should do next, but he really doesn’t wanna. He really,  _ really  _ doesn’t wanna -

“Would you like to dance then?” He offers, holding out one hand and smiling as best he can. Charlotte looks at him, her eyes lit up like Christmas lights. Her hand drops from her necklace and takes his softly.  _ This is the proper thing to do,  _ George thinks, but he still feels nauseous as he leads her out onto the floor.

Thank god it’s only a waltz, or else George might be well and truly knackered. He’s been through ballroom dance lessons, of course he has, he’s just never been any good at anything above the basics. He just can’t get his body right.

But the waltz is fine. They slip into the crowd of dancers and stop in an open spot. George turns to Charlotte and one of her hands quickly finds his shoulder. The other threads through one of his hands as he swallows the tightness in his throat and gently holds her waist. Charlotte easily lets him lead, and he moves through the easy basic steps, hoping he can manage something decent tonight.

Charlotte is a fluid dancer, and it quickly becomes clear that she makes up for any lack of grace he might have. She only gives a small chuckle when George misses a turn step and stumbles, and instead of breaking off and mocking him dreadfully like he thought in that split second of panic, she just leans in closer.

And so they dance. They don’t speak for a little, Charlotte is too wrapped up in the music and the movement. George is okay with that. It lets him concentrate on the dance. It also lets him notice that Charlotte’s hand is soft, much smaller in his hand than he would have guessed and her fingers are much thinner as well. It doesn’t feel right in his hold, he wants it to feel more calloused, thicker and more worn. The hands of somebody who spends more time gripping a pen than getting manicures. He wants -

_ No _ , George makes himself look up at Charlotte, who smiles back at him dreamily.  _ No, don’t think of him. Not now.  _ But it’s so hard. He wonders what it would be like to waltz with Alexander. He wonders if Alexander even knows  _ how  _ to waltz. He smiles, thinking about Alexander tripping over his own feet and cursing up a storm in the middle of this ballroom.

Except he wouldn’t trip, George realizes a minute later. Alexander would be smooth, fluid, easily picking up the steps from George and the other dancers around him. He’d be the graceful one between them. It wouldn’t take him too long to take the lead, and George realizes he wouldn’t mind.

And with that, the curvy figure under George’s hands and the made-up face smiling at him and the feminine giggles become all wrong so suddenly. It hits him like a tidal wave, the  _ wrongness  _ of this moment.

But he smiles at Charlotte and dances with her through the Vivaldi, making small talk when she finally starts it up. Her eyes sparkle as she looks at him but he misses the fire in Alexander’s eyes. He smiles through it and as the last note sounds he pulls back and plants the obligatory kiss on her hand. She laughs and as the music starts up again she thankfully starts to move like she wants to extract from the crowd.

They get back to the table line and are instantly ambushed by a blonde woman in a white dress who grabs onto Charlotte’s arm. “There you are!” She says. “Father’s getting a bit too tipsy, we’re going to leave before he does anything…” she motions with her hand and Charlotte laughs.

“That’s alright, I don’t mind,” Charlotte says. “Let me say my goodbyes.” Charlotte motions towards George and the blonde woman’s eyes flash in recognition. She glances between Charlotte and him for a moment before stepping back a moment.

Charlotte takes a couple of steps until she’s directly in George’s space. “I’ll be in town for a couple of weeks,” she says. “I’m staying with the Farneses. I’d like to see you again before I go.”

George stretches the most painful smile across his face. “I’ll see what I can do,” he says. “A request from a beautiful lady should never go unfulfilled.” Charlotte giggles again and then she’s off with the woman. They talk in hushed tones as they leave, and George waits until they’re a long distance away before he lets himself breathe again.

Why couldn’t Alexander have been in the press for tonight?

George’s evening is shot now, he feels like he’s floundering through the rest of the ball. The feeling of floundering is fine though, as long as he doesn’t start to drown. Drowning means he’s starting to noticeably faulter. So he flounders as long as necessary until it’s appropriate to make his exit.

He finds Adrienne quickly and it’s only ten more minutes until he’s in the car and Peter pulls away from the street. George keeps his eyes on the sleek, dark-colored building until it’s out of sight. The moment it is, he practically falls to pieces in his seat. Adrienne must notice, even with her gaze on her tablet, because she starts to sing gently in French. George holds onto the incomprehensible but familiar sounds, sending prayers of thanks that Adrienne is just  _ here _ .

He’s not bad, he’s not going to have a fit. He’s just  _ exhausted  _ and every part of him feels it. The simple melody coming from Adrienne helps him to release the tension in his shoulders and his head lolls back onto the headrest.

They travel like that for a while, stuck in the stop and go late night New York traffic. At some point, something from the night comes back to George.

“Adri?” He asks. Instantly, Adrienne’s tablet is off.

“Yes George,” she says, and when he looks over her posture isn’t as ramrod straight. Her expression is softer. It’s a very small change, but it’s there. It’s more like the Adrienne who spent hours on his dorm floor in secondary complaining about this or that teacher, less like the one who works for him.

“We’re… friends, right?” He asks, not for the first time.

“Of course,” she says, also not for the first time.

“Alexander, Lafayette and the others are my friends”

“Mhm,” she says. George lets out a deep breath, looking up at the sleek ceiling of the car, his legs stretched out as much as possible.

“And Louis Capet and Charlotte Mecklenburg and all those folks are my friends as well?” This time Adrienne hesitates. That’s all George needs. “But they’re a different sort of friend, aren’t they?”

“What do you mean?” Adrienne asks, though George knows she knows already. She’s smart, leagues smarter than him.

“I mean, the sort of friendship I have with you and the boys is different than the sort I have with Louis or Charlotte or anyone back in London.”

“I’d say so, yes,” Adrienne says. George just hums and looks out the window.

“Kind of odd, don’t you think?” He muses. “To have different types of friendship. I always thought there was just the one.”

“You thought of me like you thought of the Capets?” Adrienne asks. George shakes his head.

“Looking back on it, no, far from it. I just never really thought about it.”

Adrienne nods, and George continues to look out the window, eyeing the front display of some shop across the street.  _ Different types of friendship _ , he supposes it makes sense. It makes things a bit more confusing, having to sort people by different types of friendship but alright. The more he thinks about it, it’s not all that hard. Louis has one type, Lafayette has another, Alexander…

Well, Alexander has a whole type of ‘friendship’ onto his own, now doesn’t he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you Friday
> 
> So, I'm gonna be working a summer camp for the next month or so and while I'm gone, I won't have consistent internet access. In the meanwhile, the lovely Karli (@ashilrak on both here and tumblr) will be updating with the chapters I've prewritten. The first of these is this week's, and there should be four before I'm back. Cool? Cool.


	14. One Day I’ll Write One of George’s Panic Attacks/Meltdowns From Another POV, But Today Is Not That Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TMZ are shitheads, Alexander is a good not-boyfriend.

George is just getting home on Thursday from a business dinner when his phone rings. He pushes down the urge to just chuck his phone across the room and ignore it, but when he looks at the caller ID the urge goes away completely.

“Hello Lafayette,” George says, voice cheery and upbeat. He turns on the telly, starting to flick through channels absentmindedly. “What can I do for you?”

“Hey, I wanted to check and make sure everything was alright,” Lafayette says. That gives George pause, he puts the remote down while the television is stuck on TMZ.

“Yes, of course, everything’s alright. Is something wrong?” George asks, tendrils of fear creeping into his heart.  _ Did something happen to Alexander? Does Lafayette know something I don’t? _

Lafayette sounds a bit confused as he says: “That’s what I was calling to ask. Alexander mentioned something about you maybe not being able to come to  _ Dorothy’s  _ anymore, and I wanted to see if something was the matter.”

_ Not go to  _ Dorothy’s _ anymore?  _ George frowns, trying to think.  _ What would make Alexander think I wouldn’t go to  _ Dorothy’s  _ anymore?  _ His fingers tap along his leg, going over their last few interactions, trying to figure it out.

“George, is something the matter?” Lafayette asks just as the answer comes to him.

“No! No, nothing’s the matter,” George says quickly, “I don’t know what gave Alexander the idea I wouldn’t be joining you anymore.” It’s a lie, he knows  _ exactly  _ why Alexander would think that.

“He seemed quite sad about the idea...” Lafayette trails. “You two didn’t get into a fight did you?” The hurt look on Alexander’s face as George had insisted on maintaining secrecy flashes in front of George’s face.

“We had a slight disagreement, but not an argument,” he says carefully. Lafayette hums on the other side of the phone.

“Well, the boy is a stubborn one, and he’s burned bridges with people in the past over small things,” Lafayette says. “I’d go talk to him.”

“No, we’re perfectly fine,” George stresses, even as doubt starts to fill him, “we were just texting earlier.”

“Oh,” Lafayette says, relief in their voice. “Then you’re fine. Probably just a misunderstanding.”

“I’ll find out,” George says. Lafayette starts to say something else just as the telly catches George’s attention. There’s a photo on screen, one George doesn’t recognize but he knows the two people in it. His stomach sinks as he scrambles for the remote to turn up the volume.

It’s him and Lafayette, sitting in a small cafe together, across the table from one another. Just one of their little occasional get togethers, George can’t even tell which one. The photo must have been taken from behind a plant, there’s little green blurs where leaves partially obscure the both of them.

“...Alexander’s really quite  _ fond  _ of y-”

“Lafayette,” George interrupts the other man, red flags flying in his head, mixing with the already existing doubt and fear over Alexander and It.

“Yes?”

“TMZ has a photo of us getting lunch,” he says.

“Oh?” Lafayette asks. George can hear where he flips his phone to speaker and types something on his phone. “Huh, they do.”

_ “Bisexual model Gilbert Lafayette was spotted with this pretty boy out to lunch, and you will never guess who the boy-toy is! Tune in after the break to find out!” _ the announcer for the show says, and then it goes to an ad. George isn’t paying attention.

“They’re implying we’re on a date, that’s cute,” Lafayette says with a chuckle. “Oh, the paparazzi will do  _ anything  _ for a few bucks.”

But George is paralyzed. His throat is starting to close up tight, his heart skipping in his chest. “I have to go,” he says.

“George, are you alright?” Lafayette says, the concern suddenly back in his voice. “You sound odd.”

“I have to call a few people, get a head of this,” he says. “Goodbye, we’ll be in contact.”

“George, wait -”

But George has already hung up and is using Adrienne’s speed dial and she picks up on the second ring, thank god.

“Yes sir?”

“TMZ,” George says, trying to force out the words. He feels like he’s sitting on live coals waiting for the commercial break to be over. Adrienne must be at her computer, he can hear her typing rapidly. After a short moment he hears her sharp intake of breath.

“Alright, alright, I see it,” she says. “I’ll handle it, don’t worry.”

“Adri,” George breathes as the commercials end and the announcer comes back on, the picture coming back up beside professional pictures of Lafayette modeling men’s clothing and even some make up.

“I know George,” Adrienne says. “I’m already writing up a release. It’s going to be okay.”

“Помогите,” he says. It’s almost all he’s got at this point. His eyes are glued to the screen but he’s not really seeing anything anymore. Nothing besides the look on his mother’s and grandparents’ faces when they find out, when It comes out, when they realize how much of a disappointment he is and strip him of everything.

“Peter’s on his way up,” Adrienne says, “just stay where you are.” George’s fingers are like a vise around his phone, holding onto Adrienne’s voice even as it vibrates in his hand. Someone’s probably texting him but he can’t look, he can’t focus, he can’t  _ breathe _ -

_ Breathe,  _ Alexander tells him in his head.  _ In for four _ . And George tries, he really really tries, he manages to gasp in a breath for two but he almost chokes on it. The hand not holding his phone is pulling at his hair, he doesn’t even know when that hand got there. He’s just pulling and it hurts but it’s the only thing that’s real right now and he tries to breathe and makes it to three before he can’t pull any more air in.

His head is swirling with half-formed, panicked thoughts. He doesn’t notice as Peter comes into his apartment, doesn’t hear the door open or shut or his heavy, quick footsteps until he’s standing next to where George is sitting on the ground.  _ When did he get on the ground? _

“Золото моё,” Peter says, and that’s the first time George really registers that he’s there. “Put down phone.” George wishes he could, his whole body isn’t in his control and all he can do is force himself to take gasping breaths. The fear is like a tidal wave across his entire body,  _ people know, they know about It, I’m ruined - _

Peter gently works George’s phone from his hand. George can’t release his fingers, but Peter gets it out anyway and then both of George’s hands are pulling at his hair as hard as possible. He needs  _ something _ and the pain is something outside of the storm in his head. He drags his hands down his face, digging his fingernails into his skin.

“No, no, no,” Peter murmurs, gently pulling at George’s wrists. “Don’t do that.” But the gentle tugging isn’t enough to stop George from running his nails down his neck as well. Peter pulls George’s hands more forcefully away from his body, holding them as gently as possible while maintaining a firm hold.

But George isn’t thinking, the feeling of someone touching him is like fire on his skin. It’s so much, it’s  _ too  _ much. He tries to pull away, but Peter holds on despite George’s struggling. George just wants to get away,  _ needs  _ to get away, needs to dig his fingernails into his face and scalp, needs the pain, he’s been bad -

Peter pulls George backwards into his lap, arms wrapped around George’s chest so his arms are pinned to his sides. “George, it is me, it is Peter, I am here,” Peter murmurs, squeezing George as tight as he dares. George feels his heart pounding in his chest. “You are safe, I am here.”

George pushes against Peter’s arms for a few more moments before all the fight drains out of him and he collapses back into Peter’s chest. “Shhh, there we are,” Peter says, and then he starts to speak lowly in Russian, rocking them gently back and forth. The television is still on, and George shuts his eyes, unable to look at the harsh LED screen. Still, the light leaks through his eyelids and he turns his head and tries to hide in Peter.

Peter allows him to turn and bury his face in his chest, but keeps his arms tightly wrapped around George’s body. “Are you with me?” Peter asks, speaking slowly. George, though his body still feels as taut as a bowstring and his mind is still racing in the aftermath of the climax of his fit, nods silently. Peter lets out a deep breath, and George pulls one in.

George doesn’t know how long they sit there before there’s an urgent knock at the door. The sudden sound makes his breath catch for a moment, but he forces himself to go back to breathing as deeply and regularly as possible.

“Georgie?” Alexander’s voice comes shouting from the other side of the door. “Are you alright?” The doorknob jiggles slightly. “Let me in, please.”

“Золото моё?” Peter mutters again, quietly into George’s ear, waiting for direction. But George is already nodding, trying to force words to form but only getting out the quietest of whimpers. “Are you certain?”

George nods again, and Peter helps him onto the couch before walking toward the door. Alexander’s knocking doesn’t stop, and George can hear his phone vibrate from where it sits on the floor.

“Where is he?” Alexander asks the moment the door is open.

“Here,” George manages to croak out, surprising himself. The moment Alexander is in his sight, George reaches out for him. And then Alexander is on the couch beside him, arms wrapped around George’s middle.

“Hey,” Alexander says, quietly. Peter turns the television off and the room goes quiet and dark. The February sun has set and the only light there is is spilling in from the moonlight and street lights. George turns and buries his face in Alexander’s chest, all of the world be damned. He’s going to lose everything anyway, might as well.

Alexander and Peter trade a couple of quiet words, and then Peter brings George’s phone and places it on the coffee table.

“Adrienne?” Alexander asks.

“I’m still here,” Adrienne’s voice, tinny and electronic on speakerphone sounds. “Hello Mr. Hamilton.”

“We’ve got George,” Alexander says. George pushes himself further into Alexander’s side, and Alexander lets him, shifting slightly to accommodate, resting his head on top of George’s.

“Good, I’m on the line with TMZ and have Mr. Lafayette’s agent on another line. Neither of them can hear right now.”

“What’s the plan?” Alexander asks. Peter drapes George’s blanket around both their shoulders.

“Mr. Lafayette is being considered for appearance in a new ad campaign and he and Mr. King had a business lunch to discuss the possibility.”

“Good, good,” Alexander says. “Don’t even address the other stuff.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Adrienne responds.

“It would just feed the fire of speculation -”

“Mr. Hamilton, I mean no offense but this is literally part of my job,” Adrienne interrupts. Alexander nods, as if Adrienne could see him.

“Right, sorry,” Alexander says.

“She doesn’t know,” George manages to whisper, and for a second he’s scared Alexander didn’t hear him, but Alexander nods against his head and squeezes a bit tighter for a moment.

“George,” Peter cuts in softly, “would you like water or yogurt?” George shakes his head, but then Alexander leans back a little.

“Georgie, you need to at least drink a little,” Alexander says softly. “Your body’s all worn out and overheated.”

Now that Alexander has mentioned it, he does feel quite warm, and not from the usual reason when he’s this close to Alexander. So, after Adrienne announces she’ll be talking to someone else and Alexander puts George’s phone on mute, Alexander helps George sit up and take the cup of water Peter has.

George’s hands shake as he takes small sips, but he manages to slowly make his way through the whole glass. When he’s done, Alexander gently pulls him back down against his chest and starts to run his hand through George’s hair. George feels himself relax, melting against Alexander’s side.

“Why are you here?” George eventually manages to ask, slowly, voice hoarse and monotone.

“Lafayette texted me and told me what happened, and I figured you’d be having a p -  _ fit _ ,” he says. “And I wanted to be here to help.” Quieter, he adds, “and I didn’t know if anyone else knew about…”

George shakes his head as Alexander trails. “Told you. No one.”

Alexander understands George’s fragmented speech, or at least he nods like he does. The way George is lying now, he can hear Alexander’s heart beat in his chest. The strong, even thumping is nice to have, just in the repetitive pattern. He starts to absentmindedly tap it out against Alexander’s leg with one finger.

“Need something?” Alexander asks. George shakes his head again.

“Heartbeat,” is all he says. He thinks he hears Alexander’s heartbeat increase ever so slightly.

“Right,” is all Alexander says. They stay just like that for a while, able to hear Adrienne talking with two strange male voices, but its not until the men hang up and Adrienne is the only one left that Alexander takes them off mute. “So?”

“I did all I can tonight,” Adrienne says. “The statement’s out in the form of a ‘rumor’ and Mr. Lafayette’s agent went along with the story. We’ll have to wait until morning to see what happens, if anything.”

“There’s always a chance gossip news won’t get picked up anywhere,” Alexander says. George likes the sound of his voice and the way his chest rumbles when he speaks.

“I’d rather the rumor of an ad campaign spread,” Adrienne says. “We might have jumped on it early enough that  _ that’s  _ the story that gets passed around.”

“Wouldn’t mind hiring Lafayette,” George says, softly, feeling loose and drained. Alexander has to repeat him for Adrienne to hear.

“You would have to clear it with your grandfather,” Adrienne says.

“Why didn’t we just say they were friends meeting for dinner?” Alexander asks, and there’s a long silence.

“Bisexual,” George mutters, “need to follow company line.” Alexander bites his lip and sighs. George can feel where his arms tense around him. “‘M sorry,” George says, wincing at the slurring in his words. He hasn’t been using any inflection or tone either, he needs to get it together -

“I understand,” Alexander responds. “But then why would you want to hire him?”

“Say I didn’t know,” George says.

“I’ll have to call your grandfather,” Adrienne says. “We should probably tell him before he might find out from a tabloid.”

“I’ll call Mum,” George says.

“In the morning,” Adrienne says, voice ever so slightly more tense. “She’s probably asleep.”

“In the morning,” George agrees, too mentally exhausted to argue.

“I could help spread the rumor if necessary,” Alexander offers.

“Maybe,” Adrienne says. “We’ll have to be smart about this.”

They keep talking but George gets distracted from the conversation. Alexander’s hair has slid forward as he’s spoken and it’s resting against George’s cheek and it’s so  _ soft _ . It smells like oranges, it mixes with the scent of Alexander’s cologne and it’s comforting in its familiarity. It’s  _ Alexander _ .

He presses his face up, into Alexander’s neck, tucking it there and hiding. He just wants to stay there forever. He wants to hold Alexander and he wants Alexander to hold him. He wants to press his lips against Alexander’s neck - Alexander’s  _ lips _ . He just wants Alexander.

And in that moment he realizes this is more than those little schoolboy crushes he developed on handsome boys in school. This is more than the little schoolboy crush he used to have on Alexander. This isn’t even just  _ liking  _ Alexander. He doesn’t quite know  _ what  _ it is, but it’s more than any of that and for the moment he lets himself drown in it.

A part of his brain knows that in the morning he won’t be allowed this again, that he’ll have to build his closet walls up so high and strong because what happened tonight can’t happen again. But for the first time, that’s the thought that he pushes down.

Because for this short moment, George is Alexander’s. He’s Alexander’s as his body grows heavy and his senses dull and his brain is fuzzy with sleep. He teeters on the edge of sleep, Alexander’s voice and heartbeat wrapping around him and making him feel warm.

He’s barely cognizant of two strong arms - Peter’s - picking him up and carrying him to the short distance to his bed. His only real thought is that he misses Alexander’s warmth as Peter tucks him into bed. Peter hasn’t done this since George was very little, and although he misses Alexander’s presence the simple childhood reminder keeps him comfort until he finally succumbs to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you Friday.


	15. Dropping Peter Backstory Because He’s A Good Surrogate Dad And I Love Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter tells a story and Alexander does some thinking

As Peter carefully carries the half-asleep George to bed, Alexander takes George’s phone off speaker. “He’s being put to bed,” he explains, and Adrienne lets out a long breath.

“He’ll need the sleep,” Adrienne says. “Thank you for staying with him.”

Alexander bites his lip. “No problem.” He  _ had  _ to come, had to stay. “I had a feeling this might hit him pretty hard.”

“George is… quite sensitive to the reputation he, his family and the company all carry,” Adrienne says. Alexander can tell she’s doing the thing where she’s picking her words so very carefully so as not to lie to him outright, but dance around something important she can’t say.  _ Certain circumstances _ . “It’s very important to him.”

“And it would be damaged if he was caught fraternizing with someone who isn’t straight,” Alexander says, a bit harshly. The anger and the frustration he can’t show around George that has been bubbling under his skin all night starts to surface.

“Mr. Hamilton, you of all people should know George doesn’t think badly of you and your friends,” Adrienne says.

“It’s just unfortunate we’re not perfectly straight and groomed for presentation,” Alexander grumbles.

“I think that if George had his way, your - or Mr. Lafayette’s - sexuality wouldn’t matter.” He can hear where Adrienne is settling back into her seat. “But his hands are bound.”

Alexander’s blood is starting to churn, he can feel himself start to heat up. But he keeps his voice low as he says: “He wouldn’t dare stand up for his friends, huh?” And it’s a bit unfair, knowing what Alexander knows, that George is so deep in the closet himself that expecting him to stick his neck out for Lafayette would be like expecting a pig to fly and also shoot lasers from its eyes.

But Alexander is Alexander, and it still hurts, and it still pisses him off.

“Mr. Hamilton,” Adrienne says, her voice tightening and turning colder. “I have told you, there are certain circumstances George is navigating that restricts what he can and cannot do.”

“I know, I know,” Alexander says. He takes a long, deep breath. “What happened tonight, that won’t hurt him will it?”

Adrienne pauses for a moment. “It depends on what it looks like in the morning,” she says. There’s a long silence, the two of them simply turning things over in their heads. As usual, Alexander cannot tell what she’s thinking, but he’s too busy trying to formulate the best question to ask to even guess.

“Would George’s family really hate it that much if they found out he was spending time with Lafayette? With… the rest of us?” Alexander asks.

Adrienne pauses again, this time for a much longer moment. Alexander catches himself holding his breath, a snap of anxiety curling in his gut the longer Adrienne goes without answering. It feels like a thousand years later when she finally takes a breath and says: “I think the senior Mr. and Mrs. King - his grandparents - would like you very much Mr. Hamilton. And even if they did not, they would respect and accept you as one of George’s friends.”

“What about his mother?”

There is another silence, Adrienne carefully choosing her words in advance. “Agatha King does not like many people in general,” she eventually says. “I would not take any dislike she might take towards you personally, she is very… picky with the people she surrounds herself with. She is even more picky with the people George surrounds himself with. She is very  _ protective  _ of George, and has been since George’s father died.”

Alexander hums to himself. “But it wouldn’t do for any of them for George to be seen with us publically.”

“Agatha King handles all of the public relations for the  _ Kings  _ company,” is Adrienne’s answer. “Normally, I or George should have called her immediately when things like what happened tonight happen, but she would likely be asleep right now. It is very early in the morning in London.”

Alexander’s about to say  _ that doesn’t answer my question _ , but then a second later he realizes that it does. In a roundabout way, perhaps, but it does, and it also gives Alexander a little bit more information to work on.  _ Agatha King  _ handles PR, which means all of the company image is crafted by her, and by extension, the  _ family  _ image as well. The way Adrienne phrased it, it seems like it doesn’t much matter what George Sr. or Caroline King think, it’s all coming from Agatha.

Which leads Alexander to another question:  _ why  _ would the senior Kings allow Agatha that much control without approving her message? Do they trust her that much? Do they simply not pay attention? They might be the types that prefer a perfect image and don’t get involved unless they see something they don’t like, but don’t look too hard. Are they even really in charge, or is it all run by Agatha behind the scenes?

Options swirling in his head, he almost doesn’t notice when Adrienne asks: “Can you get home alright? Peter won’t want to leave the apartment and it’s very late.”

Alexander blinks. “I was gonna stay,” he says.

“Stay?” Adrienne asks, audibly a little taken aback.

“Yeah, George needs everyone he’s got right now,” Alexander says. It’s his turn to be dodgy with her, telling the truth while dancing around the big important things. “I was just gonna sleep on the couch.”

There’s a brief pause on Adrienne’s part, and then she says: “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Alexander says. He doesn’t mention that he’ll call off tomorrow, he’s already made that decision but it might be a little much to say right now.

“There’s not much else to be done until the morning news starts coming in and we can gage the fall out,” Adrienne says. “At this point the best thing for us to do would be to sleep in case it ends up bad.”

“Right,” Alexander says. “I’ll let you go then.”

“Get some rest,” Adrienne says, and with that they say goodbye and hang up. Silence descends on George’s apartment, silence save for the whispers of traffic outside and Peter’s footsteps from behind Alexander.

“You are staying here?” Peter asks, making Alexander jump slightly. Alexander nods.

“If that’s okay,” he says, giving Peter a look that says  _ I’m staying here if that means sleeping in the hall outside _ . To his surprise, Peter doesn’t even hesitate before nodding.

“Good. He will want you in the morning,” Peter says. Alexander blinks, looks up at him in shock. “I have only seen him cling to someone that much one other time, and he refused to let go until his grandmother came, and even then he cried and screamed for that person back.”

Peter takes a quiet step away, but Alexander leans toward him. “What happened?” Alexander asks. “Who was it?” Peter turns hard eyes on him. Alexander swallows, steels himself. “You don’t have to tell me, I’d like to know though.”

“Why?” Peter asks.

“So I know what it means for us and our… friendship,” Alexander says. Peter eyes him for a moment longer, turns away to quietly pull one of George’s chairs closer to the couch, and he sits down to look Alexander in the face.

“I moved to London in 2002,” Peter says, “and I lived in small, dirty apartment alone. Across street was another small dirty apartment building. One day I looked out window and saw large van pull up to the other building and five men get out. Then one of them opened back doors of van and pulled small, crying child from it. Young boy, struggling and screaming. They put hand over his mouth and took him inside.

I did not understand that England police are different from Russian police, I had lived long time under mafia, and so did not call police. Instead, I grabbed baseball bat, walked across street, and followed last man. I won ensuing fight, and found boy with one hand tied to radiator. He was so scared but I calmed him down and picked him up. He could not speak much and ankle was swollen so I got ice and held him until he could tell me name.”

Alexander leans forward on the couch, engrossed. Peter’s deep, accented voice is quiet, but still understandable. The harsh, Russian sounds manage to sound soft and gentle as he talks about this boy. “George?” Alexander asks, though he already knows the answer.

Peter nods. “He was ten and very small and he would not let me put him down. I was going to take him home and try to find parents but someone else called police and they came and I told them what happened. Very surprised when they did not immediately arrest me. But then they tried to take George and he cried and fought and screamed until I could go with him to station. He did not want to leave my side. When Mrs. King came she tried to take him but still he cried.”

“He didn’t even want his mom?” Alexander asks. Peter blinks at him, then shakes his head.

“Agatha King did not come. Mrs. Caroline. Grandmother,” he says, haultingly, like he’s not sure if this something he should be saying. “Does not matter. That is how I met George. I had to give statement to police but when I was let go Mrs. King and George were still there. I have worked for George ever since. When he connects with someone he does not like to let go.”

“That’s one hell of a story,” Alexander says. Peter nods. “He’s never told me he was kidnapped before.”

“George does not like to talk about it,” Peter says.

“Understandably,” Alexander says. “Tonight was just as bad as getting kidnapped to him?” The question, posed more to himself, still makes Peter rub at his face and goatee.

“He was very scared. The fit he had was very bad. Sometimes small things make big fits if it comes at wrong time.” Peter lets out a long breath. “I should not have been as surprised as I was to see him reach for you. You are quite special to him.”

_ Special _ , the word bounces around Alexander’s head and his heart latches onto it. Peter looks at him and leans back in his chair. “He will not want to let you go now,” Peter says, the faintest undercurrent of a warning in his voice.

“I don’t want him to,” Alexander says. “I don’t want to let him go either.” Peter nods again.

“I sleep one floor down,” Peter says. “I would stay on couch but I think it best you stay on couch.”

Alexander nods. “Alright,” he says. Peter stands from his seat and comes up to Alexander.

“Your phone,” he says, reaching one hand out towards Alexander. Taken aback, Alexander reaches into his pocket, unlocks his phone and hands it to Peter. With the speed of an older man still not used to modern technology, using one pointed finger, Peter slowly taps something out on Alexander’s phone. When he hands it back, on the screen is a new contact page with  _ Peter _ on the top and a single phone number beneath.

“Your word is  страх,” Peter says as Alexander looks up at him.

“Stra?” Alexander asks, Peter shakes his head.

“ _ Strakh _ ,” he pronounces it slowly, waits for Alexander to repeat it back to him correctly. “It means ‘fear.’ It is your word for if you need me.”

“I get a panic word?” Alexander asks, more than a little dumbfounded. Peter nods solemnly.

“If you mean what you say, I want you to have one,” Peter says. “Hope you never use it.” Alexander nods in agreement. “I will be right downstairs,” Peter says. “Usually he is up by seven and I am here by six-thirty. I turned off alarm, he will not want to go to work tomorrow. Call me when he wakes up.”

“Okay,” Alexander says. “Goodnight then?”

“Goodnight Mr. Hamilton,” Peter says, and a few moments later he’s gone. Alexander is left alone in George’s apartment in silence. It’s late, much later than Alexander thought as he notices when he looks at his phone. He’s not particularly tired, but he grabs one of the throw pillows on George’s couch, settles the heavy weighted blanket around himself, and lies down anyway.

He ends up staring at the ceiling for quite a long while, turning everything over in his head.  _ You are very special to him _ . Yeah, well, George is pretty special to him too but probably not in the same way. He’s known that George was a bit… different than most people from almost the very beginning, but the more time he’s spent around the man the more little oddities began to appear. Being ‘special’ to George could mean a thousand different things.

That doesn’t mean those oddities are  _ bad _ , no. Quite the opposite in fact. The little bits and pieces of George that are in fact a bit odd are the same little bits and pieces that hooked deep into Alexander’s heart and won’t let go. Alexander rarely has patience for the posh eccentricities of the rich, but George has this  _ earnesty  _ to him that makes him come across not selfish and malformed like in other wealthy people Alexander’s met, but instead naive and well-meaning.

If any other wealthy man told Alexander he liked boats and building model ships, Alexander would have rolled his eyes and dismissed him for the sheer cliche of one of the most expensive hobbies in the world. But when George drunkenly rambles about the difference between different types of sailboats it doesn’t cause that same dismissive reaction in Alexander. George is just so…  _ George  _ and damn it if Alexander’s heart doesn’t melt at the mere thought of him.

There is the issue of whatever ‘circumstances’ are being kept from Alexander. He still doesn’t quite have a finger on exactly what’s going on but he’s got a horrible feeling in his gut it's something to do with George’s family. What Peter and Adrienne told him today just about confirms it for him. He’s still missing a lot of the picture, but he’s getting more clues. Whatever’s going on, though, George is still George, for all his social challenges and well-meaning blunders.

And damn it, Alexander loves him for it all.

Alexander blinks, shifts in place on the couch. He  _ loves  _ George. His brows furrow as he looks up at the ceiling. He’s known for a long while now he’s attracted to George. Hell, he’d say he’s got a massive crush on the guy. That’s not new. But love?

_ Yes,  _ Alexander thinks.  _ I love George _ . It sounds right. It  _ feels  _ right. He lets out a deep breath.  _ Okay _ , he thinks to himself.  _ Now what do I do? _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you Friday.


	16. If Anything, Those Eggs Burned Faster Than This Fic Does

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George acts impulsively, Alexander burns some eggs.

Alexander wakes up on George’s couch with a massive pressure on his back that is released in a series of _pops_ and _cracks_ as he sits up. _Not even rich people have couches comfortable enough to sleep on, huh?_ He yawns, checks his phone. It surprisingly still has battery, it’s about eight in the morning. Alexander has no idea when he fell asleep last night, and the couch certainly didn’t help matters, but he feels well rested enough.

His neck cracks a bit as he looks around, but there’s no sign George is awake yet. Carefully, quietly, Alexander stands and creeps to the door he saw Peter carry George through last night. He cracks it open and finds an opulent bedroom with a four-poster bed, because of course that’s what George’s bedroom looks like.

And there’s George, curled up on his side, clutching his pillow, still deep asleep. In the quiet, Alexander can hear his little snores even across the room. He fights down the impulse to go crawl into bed beside George and shuts the door instead. Best to let him sleep for as long as possible.

He texts Adrienne that he’s awake, but not George, and lets Peter know the same. Adrienne responds five minutes later with a giant text updating him on the PR situation, and it seems like they might have gotten away with it. In the few tabloids where they’re talking about it, it’s a tiny side article and no one mentions anything about George and Lafayette “dating.”

Alexander quickly checks the gossip and celebrity news sections of the papers he’s subscribed to (and he’s subscribed to quite a lot), and there’s no mention of it anywhere on their online or digital editions. He smiles down at his phone. _George will be relieved_.

Alexander ends up finding a phone charger that he can use plugged into one of the kitchen walls above a counter and he plugs his phone in. He ends up standing at the counter and scrolling through the actual _important_ news. He also quickly calls into work and tells them he’s ill. That out of the way, Alexander just kills time by scanning the news and then flicking through twitter. He’s not quite sure how long he stands there before he looks up to stretch his neck and sees George standing on the other side of the living room, just looking at him.

Alexander’s heart just stops in his chest because George’s hair is all stuck up in weird angles and his eyes still look bleary with sleep. He blinks slowly at Alexander, hands coming up to rub at his eyes. He fell asleep in nicer clothes and his button up is untucked and had come unbuttoned in the night. He’s got a white tank top on underneath but it’s still the greatest state of undress or disorder he’s ever seen George in. It’s a weird mixture of adorable and hot that it makes Alexander’s stomach flip.

George looks at him like he still doesn’t quite believe Alexander is standing there, and Alexander looks at George like he’s ready to jump over the counter and just kiss him as hard as he possibly can.

“Good morning,” George says, voice still that same weird monotone from last night, like he’s still not completely booted up yet, but his head tilts to the side in confusion.

“Morning,” Alexander says. “I slept on your couch.”

George nods, glances over to the couch where the blanket and pillow still are, and then looks back at Alexander. “Bathroom,” George mumbles with a bit of slurring and Alexander’s heart melts a little more. Alexander nods and George shuffles back off down the hall.

_George is not a morning person,_ Alexander thinks, making a mental note that although George may not be a morning person, he’s absolutely adorable in the mornings. Alexander finishes what he was reading, puts his phone down, and starts up the coffee machine that had caught his eye earlier. He needs to make this a good day for George, he _wants_ to make this a good day for George.

\-------------

George doesn’t know what to do.

Alexander is currently still standing in his kitchen, and while George had been processing that fact, Alexander had given him this look that George wasn’t quite sure what it meant, but it made his skin heat up and his heart beat a little louder so that happened.

He remembers what he thought last night, and it’s still true, he wants Alexander to be his and all that, he still feels that weird, unnamed feeling in his chest. But now it’s the next morning and he’s not allowed to have those feelings and desires.

But he still does. And he doesn’t want to stop having them. He looks at himself in the bathroom mirror. He wants to have them, but more importantly, he wants to give _in_ to them. He wants to give into It.

He splashes some water on his face. He can’t. He _can’t._ He taps his fingers against the porcelain sink as the water drips from his face back down into it. He can’t do that, last night should have proved that to him. He wets his hands again and runs them through his hair before grabbing a comb. He sets his hair back into place before looking him reflection in the eye.

“I can’t,” he says to himself, softly, but oh it _hurts_ to say it. He doesn’t know what’s come over him that the routine denial of what he wants suddenly hurts so bad. He doesn’t like the way his heart pangs when he says “I can’t” to himself again. He wants it to stop. “I can’t.”

With that, he turns and leaves the bathroom, done back up and clothes fairly back in order. He needs to be able to look at Alexander and restrain himself. He can do this. He’s always been able to do this.

He gets back out to the kitchen and Alexander is just pouring himself a cup of coffee. Alexander looks up and all of George’s resolve melts away like a popsicle in the sun. He wants to reach out and take Alexander’s hand or wrap his arms around him or maybe even -

“Hey, you want any?” Alexander asks, motioning to the coffee pot. George swallows and clears his throat.

“Yes, thank you,” George says, and Alexander goes about pouring a second cup.

“Want anything with it?”

George shoves down every thought that question brings to mind and goes with: “I usually take some cream and sugar.” Alexander nods and grabs the sugar from the counter as George quickly retrieves the milk from the fridge.

“Thanks,” Alexander says as George puts it down on the counter for him. A few moments later Alexander is offering George the mug and a spoon.

“No, thank you,” George responds, and as he takes both their hands connect for a brief second and George’s heart leaps into his throat. Alexander looks down at George’s hands for a moment, and then his eyes come up to George’s face and George swears that for the briefest second, they hover on his lips.

George covers his face by taking a sip of the coffee, and while it’s far too bitter for George’s tastes he doesn’t say anything and just focuses on that. Alexander moves away a few steps and George suddenly remembers he can breathe.

“What do you usually do for breakfast?” Alexander asks. George shrugs.

“Usually some sort of pastry,” George says. “There’s a little shop on the way to work.” Alexander nods, then looks around the kitchen with his lips pursed. George tears his eyes away from Alexander’s lips and focuses on the wood pattern of his cabinets.

“We could do that,” Alexander says. “I’m kind of feeling eggs though.”

George glances at him sideways, a thought occurring to him suddenly. “We both have work today.”

Alexander shakes his head, leaning up against the counter. “Adrienne cleared your day and I called off. Rather spend the day here with you.” George’s heart skips. Alexander called off to be with _him_.

“It’s work,” George protests. Alexander cocks an eyebrow.

“Yeah, and you need the day off and I have so much time off stored up it doesn’t matter,” Alexander says. “Relax, it’s going to be okay. Just chill here with me for today.”

_With me_. Alexander is going to kill George. Before George can think of anything else to say with his flustered mind, Alexander goes around him and cracks open his fridge. George’s heart goes from fluttering to frozen as he remembers what his fridge is currently full of.

“No one’s had time to get to the store recently,” George lies with a little laugh. “Forgive the contents of my fridge.”

Alexander looks at him with a chuckle. “Georgie, my fridge is worse. At least yours is full of healthy things like yoghurt and shit. I think mine’s mostly beer.”

George smiles in relief as Alexander pulls the single carton of eggs George wasn’t sure until just now he owned. “You mind?” Alexander asks, putting the carton on the counter.

“No, but um,” George fidgets in place, “I don’t really - I suppose I could try and -”

“Georgie, let me,” Alexander says. George lets his gaze slide gratefully away from the pan cabinet. He really doesn’t know how to cook. Adrienne does for him sometimes, since all George is good for is working the microwave. But as he makes eye contact, Alexander gives him a little wink and then gets to work. George watches as Alexander starts to pull things from cabinets and the pantry and soon there’s a line various of various vegetables and containers of spices on the counter next to George’s stove top.

At some point in Alexander’s sudden flurry of movement he turns on music on his phone and sheds his shirt to reveal a tank top underneath. And he’s seen Alexander’s arms before in short sleeves, but this is something new that makes his heart roar in his ears and his face go hot. His shoulders are strong and unblemished, but he’s thin and George can easily trace his collarbone on his chest, especially as he works to crack and whisk a few eggs.

And once George manages to look away from that he sees what the bottom half of Alexander’s body is doing - specifically a little dance step to the upbeat music he’s got going now. His hips sway to the music and one foot taps against the floor in rhythm. Alexander looks over just as he’s putting the egg bowl down and reaching for a knife.

“Hey, don’t judge!” Alexander says, but he’s not ashamed. He’s got a playful twinkle in his eye as he points the egg-soaked whisk at George. “This is how you’re supposed to cook.”

George puts his hands up in mock surrender. “I wasn’t judging,” he says. No, _appreciating_ would be a better word. Alexander rolls his eyes.

“This is how my mom taught me to cook anyway,” Alexander says. “You always gotta have music and you gotta dance - that way you’re having fun and the food will taste better for it.” George laughs softly as Alexander goes back to his little dance. The song switches and Alexander is now swinging his hips back and forth to the beat. He hums along with the song and George just watches.

George just watches because Alexander is so beautiful and he can’t do anything else but watch. _This_ is what he wants. Alongside all the comfort and stability Alexander brings, he also brings _fun_. He’s brought George more fun than George has had in a long time. And as he dances across George’s kitchen George’s heart swells.

“Georgie, hand me that?” Alexander asks, pointing to a plastic container of some spice or other. George’s heart flutters a little at the little nickname, something only Alexander has for him. George dutifully gives Alexander what he asked for, and Alexander smiles over at him. “Thanks.” Alexander takes it from him and George takes a step back before just stopping in place.

He can’t stop himself from staring, can’t stop himself from wanting, doesn’t want to stop. Alexander pours the eggs into a saucepan and now that all he’s doing is helping it cook, his whole body gets into the music. Little movements with his shoulders as he pokes at the eggs with a spatula. His body moves so fluidly and he’s smiling as he hums and George is itching to reach out and _touch_ , to _speak,_ to do _something_.

Alexander looks over his shoulder and spots George just hovering there in the middle of the kitchen. “What?” Alexander asks with a little laugh. “Do you need something?”

“Yes,” George says. You’re always supposed to answer when someone asks you a question and George is too lost in his own head not to spit out the truth. Alexander blinks, smile falling slightly as he turns so he can face George better, still standing sideways to him.

“What?” Alexander asks, looking at George with a mixture of concern, care and determination on his face, and out of anything, that’s what seals it. That little look and everything leading up to it and wrapped up in what Alexander means to him.

There are no words George can think of in this moment. He’s never been really good at words even when he has them so he forgoes them entirely. He’s barely thinking about anything but Alexander and everything he wants. The little part of him still working in the back says ‘well, might as well jump off the deep end,’ and George doesn’t listen to anything else. He’s already done for thanks to last night, why not just go full throttle?

He steps forward, coming around slightly to stand in front of Alexander. Alexander looks at him with ever growing concern and confusion as George just takes one more step to get in Alexander’s space. It’s crossing a line George never thought he would, but here he is. Even as Alexander steps back, George follows.

He doesn’t really know what to do with his hands but to reach out and hold onto the tops of Alexander’s arms. He grabs on and Alexander stumbles back into the counter in surprise. His brows are raised high on his face and he sucks in a breath to speak but before he can even open his mouth, George throws caution to the wind and kisses him.

George puts his lips on Alexander’s and shuts his eyes, and that’s about as much as he knows to do when you kiss someone. He honestly has no idea what he’s doing, and it doesn’t feel all that great physically, but the feeling in his chest is phenomenal. Being this close to Alexander, finally giving into the part of him that has wanted this - has _always_ wanted this, since the moment he laid eyes on Alexander he realizes - it’s indescribable.

The euphoria floods him, making his heart pound in his ears and his knees shake but he holds on until Alexander starts to squirm a little underneath him. Alexander pulls his face away and suddenly everything comes crashing back to reality for George.

George feels his shoulders tense up, he leans back himself and cracks open his eyes slowly. Alexander is looking at him with bewilderment, mouth hanging open slightly and brows furrowed. In that moment George knows he’s made a mistake. He forces his hands to come off Alexander’s arms. “I am _so_ -“

“Did you -“ Alexander interrupts - “did you just try to kiss me?”

George looks down at the ground for a moment, bites his lip and looks back up at the wall over Alexander’s shoulder. “Um, yes?” He says softly, ready to sink into the floor and disappear forever. He can feel the beginnings of a fit start to swirl in the back of his head, _he’s done it now, ruined it all._

And then Alexander lets out a little laugh, and isn’t that the worst thing? Alexander is _laughing_ at him -

“Oh Georgie,” he says, a bit breathy with giggles, “that’s not how you kiss someone.” And then Alexander’s hands are one George’s face and are pulling him down as Alexander leans up.

George is still frozen in shame for a moment, but the gentle movement of Alexander’s lips coaxes him into replicating it with his own, and _this_ makes so much more sense. The physical awkwardness of the first one is gone as Alexander gently takes the lead and George simply follows along.

Alexander breaks the kiss for just a split second to breathe and then comes back, the hands on George’s face sliding back until Alexander’s arms are wrapped around his neck instead. He follows suit, his own arms wrapping gingerly around Alexander’s chest.

George’s mind has stuttered to a standstill for the moment, just focusing on the feeling of Alexander on him and trying to keep up with what Alexander is doing. There are teeth involved in kissing, to George’s pleasant surprise, as Alexander nips and sucks on George’s bottom lip.

He likes this. He wants this. He feels so good in this moment, so _right_.

Alexander finally pulls away with a gasp and an “oh shit” and for a moment George is confused until the smell of something burning hits his nose. George opens his eyes just as Alexander slips out from between George and the counter.  Alexander grabs the spatula from where he put it down and goes about trying to save the eggs currently turning a bad shade of black in the frying pan.

George is left standing there, dumbfounded, trying to catch up to what just happened. Alexander mutters quiet profanities to himself as he works, his face red and his breathing a bit hard. George is in a similar state, he can feel the strength of the blush on his face and he flounders for breath with his jackhammer of a heartbeat.

Alexander eventually turns the stove off and slides what food he could save on a plate - less omelette and more scrambled eggs. He turns off the music, takes a breath and then turns around to face George, who hasn’t moved an inch. They look at each other for a long moment, searching the other person’s face for something, _anything_ that might give away what they’re thinking.

“So,” Alexander starts. “We just made out against your counter.” George nods dumbly in response. Alexander runs his hands along the counter and swallows. “I quite liked it, just FYI, and I’d like to do it again.”

George’s heart leaps into his throat, but the rational portion of himself is starting to come back on line and _oh fuck_ he just kissed a man. He just kissed _Alexander Hamilton_. That was his first kiss and it was with Alexander Hamilton, a man, someone he can’t have -

“Georgie, hey,” Alexander says, waving his hands to get George’s attention. “Breathe, tell me what’s going on in your head.” George sucks in a deep breath, his fingers tapping his own palms rapidly.

“I’m so sorry,” George eventually says. “I shouldn’t have done that. That shouldn’t have happened and it shouldn’t happen again and we just did a really bad thing and - and - please accept my apology?”

As George speaks, he watches Alexander’s face collapse, and it makes him more and more anxious. “I didn't mean you’re a bad kisser, we just can’t do that - _I_ can’t do that and it’s not - not your fault, I s-started it and I shouldn’t have and I’m sorry and I don’t know what else to say at this point.”

When he’s finished, Alexander is quiet for a moment. Alexander looks down at the floor, hands curling around the counter at his back. George wants to flee, but he plants his feet and forces himself to wait. This is how it _has_ to be, George knows that. He’s made a mistake but he can’t do it again and Alexander’s going to be so mad and not want to be his friend anymore -

“Please don’t apologize,” Alexander says lowly. “Because I don’t think it was bad or wrong of us, but if you apologize and I accept that apology then we’re saying it was wrong and I don’t want to do that.”

“But I wasn’t supposed to do that,” George says. “I can’t kiss you.” Alexander lets out a breath.

“Can’t or don’t want to?” Alexander asks. George fidgets in place.

“Can’t,” George says.

“Why not?”

“Because that’s not what I’m supposed to do!” George says, breath starting to come quicker, he’s starting to stutter and stammer. “I’m supposed to be with a girl and be a good heir. I’m not supposed to want to kiss you or want to hold your hand or take you out on dates or anything.”

Alexander looks up at George, something shining deep in his eyes. Not for the first time in his life, George wishes he was better at reading people. “But you want to do all that?” He asks. George takes a breath to say _no,_ but he can’t say it, he can’t lie now. He just nods mutely and wraps his arms around his middle, starting to rock back and forth on his feet.

“I’d like to do all that with you,” Alexander says. “I’ve liked you for a long while now, and I’d like to be your boyfriend and go on dates and hold your hand and kiss you.” George’s heart stops.

“We can’t -“

“But we _can_ ,” Alexander says, finally stepping away from the counter and towards George. “It’s not bad, it’s not wrong.” George shakes his head and stakes a step back. “Georgie, look at me.”

George looks up and finds Alexander standing just in front of him. “Listen, I know it’s hard. It’s scary, probably even more so for you, but believe me there’s nothing wrong with being gay and loving someone.”

“Maybe for you -“

“For you too,” Alexander cuts in. “You can do whatever you want to do. Georgie, you’re a brilliant businessman, who you might choose to kiss doesn’t affect that. And if your family doesn’t like it, screw it. If they love you they’ll come around.” Alexander places his hands on George’s face and comes in close so their foreheads are touching. “George, I really really like you and I’d like you to be my boyfriend. Please give me the chance to prove that it’s okay, that _we’d_ be okay.”

Alexander presses a light kiss to George’s lips then and pulls back. He steps back an arms length away and waits, intelligent eyes watching George’s face carefully. George’s breath catches in his chest.

“I don’t wanna come out,” George says. Alexander nods.

“I know, and you don’t have to right now,” Alexander says. George’s breath hitches as something he’d never thought possible starts to present itself to him. Alexander is standing right there, arms still outstretched towards George. He can still feel Alexander’s lips on his and arms wrapped around his body.

He wants it, he wants it _so bad_. For a split second, he thinks about it, a life where he gets Alexander and his family and his company. An impossible dream, but he lets himself think of it as reality for just a moment.

That glorious moment with that future in his hands overwhelms him, and suddenly nothing else he could possibly think up sounds nearly as good. If Alexander is right, maybe he could really have this? Just this one thing to make him so happy.

Silently, before he can talk himself out of it, he steps forward into Alexander’s arms, presses his face into Alexander’s shoulder and nods. Alexander’s arms come around to embrace him completely, and George thinks his legs might give out from the relief and joy coursing through him.

“We’ll be okay,” Alexander says, pressing his cheek to the top of George’s head. “We’ll make it work, I promise.”

And, for the moment, George lets himself believe him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a perfect chapter to finish out the month of Karli updates.
> 
> In other news I'm back from camp and had an actual decent shower and night's rest. Sorry this is a day late, I got back home much later than I originally planned. I had a wonderful time though and everything was good. I am gonna go back to bed now though, I'm so fucking tired. Nap time bitches.
> 
> See you Friday!


	17. Hey Look It's A Thomas And He's With A Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander performs a balancing act, George struggles and Thomas chills with a cat

They stand there in the middle of George’s kitchen, rocking back and forth until Alexander feels George stop shaking in his arms. His stomach is full of butterflies, his heart breaking for his beautiful Georgie, obviously so scared of what this is between them now.

But George wants it, they wouldn’t be here in this moment if something in George wasn’t stronger than that fear. Which means George wants this, wants _them_ just as much - if not more - than Alexander does.

With that realization, Alexander finds himself floating on cloud nine. What was once so impossible and out of reach is right here in Alexander’s hands. It’s fragile, might get blown away by the wind or shattered by the tiniest wrong move, but it’s here. All Alexander has to do is find a way to strengthen it now.

When George’s breathing returns to normal and his body stops shaking like a leaf, Alexander pulls away gently. “Hey,” he says, ignoring the redness in George’s eyes even as George doesn’t meet his gaze. “The food’s getting cold.”

George cracks a small smile. “I’d imagine it’s been cold for a bit now,” he says, voice weak and a bit toneless. Alexander chuckles, rubs his thumb against George’s cheek and slowly turns around to pick up the plate of definitely over cooked eggs. He doesn’t break contact with George though, knowing George needs him here in this moment.

He does look down at his breakfast attempt and scrunch his nose at it. “Okay, _so,_ I know I made a whole big thing about me cooking for you and I _swear_ I can actually make some goddamn eggs and even more complicated stuff, but like we did get a bit distracted so these are edible and probably still pretty decent but they’re far from the best I could do and if you could remember that and not assume this is the best of my culinary skills that would be great.”

He looks back up at George who actually has a little breathless smile on his face and something shining in his eyes that makes the swarm of butterflies in Alexander’s stomach take off again. “Alexander, I really don’t care about those eggs right now,” he says, the smallest undercurrent of laughter in his voice. He takes the plate from Alexander’s hand and gently places it against the counter.

They’re just looking at one another in the soft morning light, it’s silent save for their breathing. It’s easy for Alexander’s hand to find George’s jaw again, for him to lean up and just brush his lips against George’s. He can feel where George’s heartbeat picks up, and he stops himself from going any further. It’s just a closed mouth kiss but Alexander’s own heart is fluttering in his chest. He can’t imagine how George is feeling right now.

George mutters something lowly, pulling away just a centimeter. Alexander hums questioningly in response. He feels George shift, like he doesn’t want to move back but knows he should. Alexander feels where George leans into his hand ever so slightly.

“Where’s Peter?” George asks, his voice quiet and soft, an odd sort of melancholy in it. Comfort mixed with fear. Alexander presses his forehead against George’s in what he hopes is a loving manner.

“Downstairs,” Alexander says. “He’ll come up when I text him that you’re awake.” George lets out a quiet breath of relief.

“I was hoping you’d say something like that,” George says. “Didn’t want to find out he’s been in the restroom the whole time.”

“Quite a long bathroom break if he was,” Alexander teases. George laughs softly. They’re just standing there, foreheads together. George’s eyes are shut even as Alexander’s are open. There’s a calm in George’s body that Alexander has never quite seen before. They breathe in tandem.

Alexander doesn’t know quite how he got here, but by god he’s so glad he did. There’s a warm feeling in his chest as he just watches George _be_ for the moment. He can’t describe exactly what he’s feeling but as he reaches out with a hand to take one of George’s he can’t help but think once again, he’s got something precious now. Something precious that’s not to be broken.

“We should probably text him soon,” Alexander ventures, trying to put it as gently as possible. George takes a long breath in even as he squeezes Alexander’s hand and the tension in his shoulders rises.

“Yes,” he says with a voice full of regret. He goes to lean back but Alexander slides his hand around the back of George’s neck and holds him close.

“Hey,” he says, still keeping his voice soft. It’s not his usual habit, but it’s what’s right for this moment. “It’s going to be alright.” George just nods slightly. They stay there for a moment, holding onto their shared breaths until finally, regretfully, Alexander leans back far enough to grab his phone.

He sends Peter a message and comes back to to George, reaching to kiss him one last time, George responds, his motions still endearingly clumsy and not quite right. It’s only the knock on the door that sends George leaping backwards, retreating from Alexander like he’s been badly burned.

Alexander stifles any anger or hurt at that and instead leans casually on the counter, head turned away as George opens the door for Peter. The older man steps inside, and Alexander sees where his nose twitches at the lingering smell of burnt eggs.

“You attempted to cook?” Peter asks George, voice betraying no emotion. George’s already blushed face turns down in a cute pout.

“ _No_ , Alexander did,” he says, like a petulant child blaming his brother for something. Peter looks at Alexander who shrugs.

“Not used to this stove, burned faster than I expected,” he lies. Peter glances at the abandoned plate of eggs on the counter and lets out a single chuckle.

“I will have Adrienne order more groceries,” he says. George nods, closing the door. There’s a stiffness to him now, he watches Peter carefully, his jaw clenched tightly. _Must be terrified_ , Alexander thinks, watching George struggle to keep his expression under control. He sighs, and opens his text log with George.

**_To: George_ **

**_he has no reason to suspect anything. it’s okay, we’re safe_ **

George jumps as his vibrates from where it’s sitting on the counter. He grabs it quickly, scans the message and looks up at Alexander. Alexander gives him a smile after checking that Peter’s back is to them. He’s busy looking through George’s pantry for the moment, so Alexander risks giving George a silent thumbs up. George looks back down at his phone, his thumbs move across it and a moment later a message comes back to Alexander.

**_He’s going to find out_ **

**_Not if we don’t want him too,_** Alexander responds.

“You are out of pudding mix,” Peter says from the pantry. George’s eyes flick over to him, the edges of panic in his eyes. “What kind would you like?”

George clears his throat and Alexander can hear the strain in his voice as he says: “vanilla is fine, thank you.” Peter turns around to look at George, eyebrows furrowed in concern. George offers him a smile and then buries his face in his phone.

A moment later, Alexander has the heavy weight of Peter’s searching gaze upon him. He looks up and Peter is frowning heavily. Alexander glances at where George is mouthing numbers to himself, trying to keep his breathing steady an in time with his count. Alexander crosses the room under the guise of getting a glass of water, and on the way whispers to Peter: “ _later_.”

Peter nods and Alexander fills the cup. He then gives it to George, using the cover of his own body to mask him running his hand up and down George’s arm soothingly. “ _It’s alright_ ,” Alexander tells George, who nods quicky, still trying to breathe.

_What have I gotten myself into?_ Alexander asks himself, risking a glance in Peter’s direction. _Gotta make this work somehow_. But George looks like he’s about ready to lose it again and who knows what Peter is thinking.

Peter’s phone buzzes. “Breakfast is in lobby,” he says. “I will get.” And thankfully, Peter does just that, walking out of the apartment. It’s not until the ding of closing elevator doors is heard that George lets out a huge breath. His head drops to Alexander’s shoulder.

“I can’t do this,” George says. “That was, what? An hour and I - I just can’t.”

Alexander glances at the stove clock, it’s really only been about twenty minutes but he dares not tell George that. “Yes you can,” Alexander says, running his hand through George’s hair. “You are strong and smart -” George hums disapprovingly at that - “and you can do this.”

_Can he though?_ Alexander doesn’t know. George might have the ability to hide this - _them_ \- from just about anyone. He’s done a spectacular job at hiding other things, including his sexuality, but can he hide something from Peter and Adrienne?

This first interaction with Peter tells Alexander quite definitavely, _no,_ George can’t. Not for very long anyway. Peter’s already got his antenna up, and if Alexander can’t diffuse that then Adrienne is going to be told. And Adrienne is a whole other beast.

_But_ , if George would just tell those two…

Adrienne and Peter would certainly keep it secret, hell they’d probably actively _help_ George keep this secret. Alexander nods to himself. That’s the plan then, try and get George to come out to Adrienne and Peter.

He’s is so fucking deep with this man, but looking down at where George is tucked into his chest makes him feel like that’s right where he should be.

\--------------

“Yeah, I’m watching the house for the weekend,” Thomas says, looking up into his phone. James’ face on the screen is a welcome sight. It’s been too long since he’s seen his best friend.

“Can’t wait to hear about it getting burned to the ground,” James says. Thomas rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his drink. “Everything good?”

“Yeah, Martha just wanted a vacation.” Thomas explains. Martha’s cat meows and Thomas obligingly puts his drink down and runs his hand over the cat’s neck. The cute little thing demands just as much attention as his namesake did.

“How’d Dolley?” He asks. “Wedding going along well?”

“She’s getting anxious over the colors of the tassels on the tablecloths,” James says.

“So it’s going just fine,” Thomas says. James laughs.

“Yeah, it’s going great.” James glances at something off screen but then his attention is back on Thomas. “We’re still sad you have to miss it.”

“Big client on defense, I don’t have much of a choice,” Thomas says.

“I know I know,” James says. “Dolley’s supposed to be here soon, if you want to see her.”

“Absolutely,” Thomas says. He smiles as James it cut off by a knock on the door and disappears. He takes his hand away from the cat to grab his Old Fashioned, but gets a hiss and a scrape of claws for his trouble.

“Alright alright, you little devil,” Thomas says and goes back to petting it until his purrs under his hand. He just can’t ignore a Hamilton, human or feline.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is super short, but it exists.
> 
> Thank you all for the marvelous support last week! Hopefully by next Friday I'll be churning out normal length updates.
> 
> See you Friday!


	18. Announcement - Hiatus

Hey y’all. I said something on my tumblr about this but completely forgot to update things here.

Why Dont You Stay is going on indefinite hiatus. There’s multiple reasons for this. I’m okay, don’t worry, I just don’t think I’m gonna end up continuing/finishing this.

Thanks for all the support and all the love for this series, and I’m sorry I likely won’t be finishing it. I’ll keep the door open just in case I end up wanting to, but don’t get your hopes up.

Thanks for understanding!

~Parker/TheInevitableSense


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